Chances of Survival
by Shedaisies
Summary: It's hard for me to even think of what I am—what I was. I've always been taught to be ashamed of it. Factionless. I was born factionless. I've been factionless for the last sixteen and a half years. But now I'm not.
1. The Choosing

**A/N: This is the first fanfic I've ever actually published. It's also on AO3. I own nothing that you recognize, only Dorothy's (DJ's) story. Hopefully, I'll be updating once a week. Thank you for reading!**

Chapter 1: The Choosing

"Dorothy Jennings." With shaking knees, I make my way to the center. Blood rushing in my ears drowns out whispers. I'm afraid I'll trip on my way there. I don't. I look at the gracious host: Marcus Eaton. His eyes, deep blue, hold kindness for most, but I recognize a familiar type of cruelty lurking just behind the surface.

The woman beside him hands me a knife, almost blue in color, and sharp as can be. I draw the blade across my cold palm, take a deep breath, and let the accumulated blood drip into the only bowl that made sense to me. The minuscule drops land with a sizzle. "Dauntless." A dull roar comes from my new faction, who I've noticed have been becoming less and less enthusiastic as the choosing ceremony drags on.

I wiggle myself into the growing group of Dauntless initiates, finding myself looking up at the back of a Dauntless-born's neck. It doesn't matter, I suppose. I'd see any more Dauntless initiates as they came and joined, and I don't particularly care who goes into other factions. The next initiate whose name is called chooses Erudite. The next, Peter Hayes, comes to stand next to me. He is a confident man, with a wide, easy smile. Something unsettling swims behind his green eyes, but I can't place this one. I almost offer him a smile.

Instead, I look down, picking dirt from under my fingernails as his judging eyes try to burn yet another hole into my already worn grey sweater. _Maybe he thinks I'm from Abnegation,_ I hope. The clothes I wear _did_ come from them, and my mannerisms certainly seem demure, though from self-preservation rather than selflessness.

Other things give away my plight, though. I somehow doubt that he's ignorant, and surely he notices my matted hair or the dirt that mars my face. I tried to scrub as much of it off as I could this morning, but washing in dirty water doesn't allow me to be particularly clean.

It's hard for me to even think of what I am—what I was. I've always been taught to be ashamed of it. _Factionless._ I was born _factionless_. I've been _factionless_ for the last sixteen and a half years. But now I'm not. I might not be a member yet, but I can say that I'm not factionless. I grin and barely contain a giddy giggle at the thought.

Finally, the last dependent chooses (Minnie Aaron, Amity) and we're dismissed.

The Dauntless (myself included now) are the first to make the exit into the world. I don't bother looking for my mom. She couldn't come; she had to drive the bus today.

The older Dauntless—members already—lead us past the elevators, toward the stairs. I'm used to this part, at least. Then they run, hooping and hollering the whole way. I try to keep up, feeling lucky that we're descending the steps and not ascending. My chest burns by the time we reach the ground floor.

They don't stop, so neither do I, no matter how much I want to. In fact, the speed picks up and I'm sprinting to keep up. The air outside is cold, but my entire body feels like it's on fire. My legs scream in protest. _Not much chance to build muscle or stamina when you barely eat enough to keep you alive,_ I think bitterly.

Just as I think I can't go any longer, we stop. Around the corner, I hear the loud screeching of the train's horn. The crowd forms a crude single file line in front of the train tracks. The train glides by noisily; the car doors are open as always. The Dauntless members and Dauntless-born initiates jump on with a practiced ease, so almost immediately, it's only the faction transfers left.

I wonder briefly if I qualify as a transfer, given the fact that I didn't necessarily switch out of a faction. I shake the thought from my head and begin jogging with a few other transfers. We run parallel with the train and hurl ourselves into the car. Despite the fact that I've done it before, I find that it takes all of my strength to pull myself in.

I'm not the only one. A dark-skinned Candor transfer pulls in another initiate—a blonde girl, also dressed in grey. She _is_ from Abnegation. A red-haired Erudite boy doesn't make it at all, despite the attempts of a girl who tries to help him. I don't envy him, knowing exactly what it's like where he's going.

I drape my arms over my head, trying to open up my airways and get more breath into my lungs. I sit with my back against the metal of the car, more out of necessity than of strategy, though I realize that it was a smart one as other initiates are thrown around the car by the wind.

The Abnegation girl and the Candor girl who helped her sit on the opposite side of car. I can see them by the orange light of the setting sun. After a few minutes, the other initiates decide that sitting might be in their best interests.

For at least half an hour, maybe more, I sit silently, listening to the conversations of others. None sound interesting enough to lend my focus to. Finally, a boy shouts, "They're jumping off!"

I'm not surprised. The trains almost never stop, and the Dauntless almost always take the trains. Jumping seemed like the only way to get off. I've seen them do it when they used to patrol the factionless sectors. I stand, looking out of the open door. Sure enough, the Dauntless in the cars ahead of us are launching themselves onto the adjacent rooftop. There's a gap between the tracks and the ledge of the roof. I watch as a few more people jump onto it, observing how they land and hoping to figure out how not to kill myself.

"We have to jump off too, then," I hear from a girl behind me.

"Great, because that makes perfect sense, Molly. Leap off a train onto a roof." A roof that's quickly approaching. And why did that sound so sarcastic? It _did_ make perfect sense, at least to me.

"This is kind of what we signed up for, Peter." I hadn't imagined that the high, slightly effeminate voice of the boy behind me was that of Peter Hayes, but I realize that it suits him.

"Well, I'm not doing it," says a smaller voice. I whip around toward him. It's a little Amity boy, curled up near the back. He'd been crying.

"You've got to," the Candor girl who helped the Abnegation girl says, "or you fail. Come on, it'll be all right."

"No, it won't! I'd rather be factionless than dead!"

The words hit me hard, my chest tightening, and I can't hold back a reply. "Really?" I ask. His eyes snap up, as though realizing for the first time that I'm there. A look of recognition crosses his face. "Because I'd rather be dead than factionless." With that, I see that the roof has appeared in front of the door, and I leap to the relative safety of the roof. I run a few steps to stay upright, but quickly stagger to a stand still without falling completely.

I watch as the people from my car each land on the roof, each falling except for Peter. My words must have left a mark, because just as the train passes the roof, the Amity boy jumps. He misses the roof, and falls just beside. He screams until a sickening thud stops him. Bile rises in my throat. _He wouldn't have jumped if I wouldn't have said that_ , I think blankly. _But he wouldn't have lasted a day trying to fight for food with the factionless. That was probably a more merciful death for him._

A Dauntless-born suffered a similar fate, another girl almost hurling herself off the roof to get to her fallen comrade. No one noticed the Amity boy. I didn't even know his name.

"Listen up!" My head snaps away from the spot where the Amity boy _should have_ landed. "My name is Max! I am one of the leaders of your new faction!" The man speaking is older than anyone on the roof, member or initiate. He jumps up and stands on a ledge bordering an open hole in the concrete. It was put there for a reason. "Several stories below us is the members' entrance to our compound. If you can't muster the will to jump off, you don't belong here. Our initiates have the privilege of going first."

"You want us to jump off a _ledge_?" If the mousy Erudite transfer hadn't said it, I might have. It seemed so callous to ask us to jump as if two people hadn't died doing that very thing moments ago.

"Yes," Max responds simply, looking vaguely amused.

"Is there water at the bottom or something?" Water at the bottom won't help much, I realize. We might still die, jumping from this height.

"Who knows?" Something burns hot in my chest. _How can he be so nonchalant about the fact that he might be asking us to jump to our deaths?_ But he wouldn't do that, would he? If they killed initiates in their first day, they would have run out of members almost at the beginning of the faction system, right? That must mean that they made some way for this to be at least _mostly_ safe, _right_?

The horde of members in front of us part for the initiates, for us, like the red sea had for Moses. No one moves for a tense moment. Then the Abnegation girl steps forward into the makeshift aisle. A few people snicker. I'm not one of them.

Max yields for the small girl, letting her step up onto the ledge and look into the abyss below. With obviously shaking fingers, she stumbles to unbutton her grey Abnegation blouse. At last, she pulls the offending garment off, revealing a grey tee shirt, and lobs the blouse at Peter. It hits him in the chest and he glares at her indignantly. A few Candor transfers and one Erudite transfer shout and catcall, but she ignores them and turns to the hole once again. She stands there for a moment. Then she bends her legs and jumps off.

I'm the first one to run up and peer down after her. By the time I get up there, the black abyss has swallowed her. She makes no noise, which means that I can't tell how far she fell. The uncertainty makes my heart beat faster.

The Candor girl who helped her was the second to jump. She screams as she falls, but stops after not too long. Then, it was a Dauntless-born, then two Erudite transfers (a couple, judging by the way that they held hands as they jumped). I was the sixth.

I don't know why I waited so long to jump. It feels like I'm flying. It seems like I'm falling forever, yet I hit something springy too soon. A net. Normally I wouldn't like the way that it made my time perception so faulty, but the only thought that comes to my mind, and falls from my lips, was "I have to do that again."

The man who grabs my arm to pull me off before the next initiate just chuckles and asks my name.

"Dorothy," I answer, still in awe. I don't think I even looked at him, too overwhelmed by the fact that I just _jumped off a building_.


	2. Friends and Enemies

**A/N: Longer chapter this time, and Dorothy actually gets to interact with more of the people and start building relationships! I still don't own anything.**

 **Chapter 2: Friends and Enemies**

The next initiate who falls through the hole is Peter, followed by Molly, who was followed by Drew. I chanted their names with the other Dauntless, partially to feel like I was part of something, and partially to remember their names.

By the time that the last initiate (Al, another Candor transfer) falls onto the net, I can remember the names of all the transfers and half of the Dauntless-borns. There are twenty-one of us in all. Ten transfers. Eleven Dauntless-borns. It's going to be a tough competition.

Nobody has said it yet, but I know that that was what it was: a competition.

As Al joins our group, we are lead further into the compound. The walls are stone and the ceiling is high and sloped. It's almost as dreary as home, but this holds more hope, more promise. _This is home now,_ I remind myself. I'm so distracted by my new habitat that I run right into the back of someone. _Drew._

The crowd has stopped, three leaders standing in front of us. The only female speaks. "This is where we divide. The Dauntless-born initiates are with me. I assume _you_ don't need a tour of the place."

She motions for the Dauntless-borns to follow her, and they fall victim to the shadows as they separate.

Another addresses us next. I'm fairly certain that he's the one who pulled me off the net. "Most of the time I work in the control room, but for the next few weeks, I am your instructor," he tells us. "My name is Four."

I snort, but it's covered by the Candor girl's question. "Four? Like the number?"

"Yes," he replies, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Is there a problem?"

The girl backs down with a meek "no."

"Good," I let out a breath. He hadn't heard me. "We're about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It-"

He's cut off again by the Candor girl. "The Pit? Clever name."

I know that it was a mistake on her part. He steps forward, the few people between them parting as he reached her in two strides, putting his face too near hers. His eyes narrow again, looking more dangerous than before. "What's your name?" His quiet inflection was more intimidating than if he was yelling.

"Christina," she squeaks pathetically. It seems _she_ knew it was a mistake as well.

"Well, Christina," the way he spat her name makes me worry about what he'll say next. "If I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths, I would have joined their faction." I was surprised by how tame that was. It wasn't pleasant, but it could have been worse. "The first lesson you will learn from me is to keep your mouth shut. Got that?"

She nods.

He continues down the corridor we'd been following as if nothing ever happened. I hear Christina and the Abnegation transfer muttering to each other, but I choose to ignore it. He pushes a set of double doors open once we reach the end of the corridor, and we enter into the place he called "The Pit."

The name Christina had mocked seemed remarkably apt as we looked at it. It's a cavern so large that I can't see the whole thing, whether from sheer size or the shadows I'm not sure yet. Nooks have been carved from the stone, and in them are various shops. Precariously narrow paths and staircases are carved from the rock to connect them. There are no railings.

The building of shops into the natural cavern seems inherently Dauntless; changing your environment and forcing it to bend to your will.

The ceiling has to be the best part of the entire room, though. It's made entirely of stained glass like you'd see in churches. I assume that above it is a building to obscure the ornate glass. There are a few lanterns lighting the way, but most of the room's illumination comes from the ceiling.

The Pit is crawling with Dauntless life. Black-clad people go about their normal days, as though it wasn't the most important day of their lives. It isn't. It's the most important day of _my_ life. I notice a conspicuous lack of the elderly amongst them and I'm reminded of how they often finish their days. Let's just say that I'm more than familiar with some previous members who were no longer able to do their jobs.

"If you'll follow me, I'll show you the chasm," says Four. I wish I didn't have to follow. I wish I could stay here just a little bit longer and just watch, but I can't. I follow.

He leads us to the right side of the Pit. It's the darkest pert of the room by far, as if even the fading sunlight filtering in is fearful of it. The edge of the floor is marked by an iron railing. _That must be the only railing in the whole compound,_ I think. As we approach, a new sound reaches me. It's the dull roar of rushing water. I identify it almost immediately, though it's not something I've heard before.

I decide not to look over it. My curiosity didn't reach that far, and if I really want to at any time, I'm sure I can come here on my own. I have a feeling I know what it looks like from the water that occasionally sprayed my group anyway.

"The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy," Four shouts over the nearly deafening roar of the water. "A daredevil jump off this ledge will end your life." _Like the daredevil jump off the train ended those two initiates' lives?_ "It has happened before. You've been warned."

My peers all speak about the chasm, some in hushed tones, others outwardly. I stay silent as Four leads us toward a better-lit room.

It's a dining hall, I think. It's loud, with unceasing chatter from the members cluttering it and the sound of silverware clattering. I feel out of place. _Some of these people might have seen me before,_ I think, _and I haven't changed at all for them not to recognize me._

I put my head down.

It's nothing like I expected when we walk in. The moment we enter, the Dauntless stand. They make as much noise as they can. They applaud. They stomp, scream, and slam their metal cups and silverware against tables. I suppose it's supposed to be a welcome, but the noise surrounding me makes me retreat farther into myself. The only time I've ever heard anything that loud was when there were riots, and these were the people I had once fought against.

I notice that most of the other initiates smile. I don't.

I just try to find an empty seat. Scanning, I find an almost empty table near the side. I make a beeline for it. I sit at the very end, as far from any members as I can. Sitting in the middle of the table is a tray filled with strange circular meat patties trapped between two circular pieces of bread. I don't even think before I grab one and take a huge bite, eating as quickly as I can. I'm glad nobody is here to see me. My solidarity is short lived.

Within minutes, just as I'm finishing the food, I'm joined by Four, Christina, and the Abnegation transfer. I still haven't learned her name. Four sits almost across from me, leaving the very end seat empty. I wonder if he did that just to avoid making me even more uncomfortable, but I doubt it.

The Abnegation transfer sits next to him, and Christina next to her. None of them focus is on me, though. The Abnegation transfer's focus is on the strange food in front of us, and the other two's focus is on her. The Abnegation transfer grabs one of the strange sandwiches and pinches it between her fingers.

Four nudges her. "It's beef," he tells her. "Put this on it." He hands her a little bowl of red paste.

The confused look on her face was almost as comical as Christina's bug-eyed look. I almost laughed at it. "You've never had a hamburger before?"

"No," she replies. "Is that what it's called?"

"Stiffs only eat plain food," Four says in explanation. I know this. I've only ever eaten the handouts they've given.

"Why?" Christina seems completely baffled by the idea.

"Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary," the Abnegation transfer replies with a shrug.

"No wonder you left."

"Yeah," she rolls her eyes. "It was just because of the food."

I grab another hamburger. "You might want to pace yourself there," Four tells me with a look almost akin to concern. I shrug and bite into it, making sure to eat this one slower.

Suddenly the cafeteria doors open and an eerie silence falls over the whole room. The people sitting across from me turn to see the young man walking in. It's quiet enough to hear every time his foot falls. I'm not sure if I prefer this or the cacophony from before. The young man has long, greasy black hair, and from what I can see at least a dozen piercings in his face, not counting his ears. There's coldness in his eyes as he sweeps the room, and I'm almost afraid that a layer of frost might cover us. I don't look away.

"Who's that?" Christina asks, voicing what all three of us were wondering.

"His name is Eric," Four replies, almost in a whisper. "He's a Dauntless leader."

"Seriously? But he's so young." I agree with her there. He can't be more than two or three years older than us.

"Age doesn't matter here."

Eric's eyes stop scanning, and his gaze meets mine. I cast my eyes down to the table in front of me. When I look back up, he's heading towards us. He takes the seat next to Four, directly across from me. There's a moment of tense silence before he says, "Well, aren't you going to introduce me?"

I'm not so sure I _want_ to be introduced. "This is Tris, Christina, and Dorothy."

"Ooh, a Stiff," he smirks, looking at the Abnegation transfer. _Tris_. She looks like she's about to throw up. Then his predatory gaze turns to me. "And a Street Rat." I give a fake grin, showing my teeth, including the missing incisor on the right of the front teeth. "We'll see how long either of you last."

I want to tell him that I _will_ last, that I'll do whatever it takes to not go back to being factionless. I don't know how much longer I'd survive out there. But I don't. Talking back to this man will bring nothing but trouble, I'm sure of it. Instead of replying, I pick up my hamburger and take another big bite. I notice for the first time, having eaten my first hamburger too quickly to taste it, that it has more flavor than I would have expected, almost too much right now. It's hard for me to swallow this bite.

His fingers drum against the table. I look at his hands. They're big, and his knuckles show that he's been in a fight recently. I've cleaned wounds like that often when I was in the factionless sector, especially after the riots.

"What have you been doing lately, Four? Aside from picking up strays?"

"Nothing, really," Four replies with a shrug. It looks nonchalant, but the tension in his neck and jaw tell differently.

 _Eric's sitting here as an intimidation technique,_ I realize. There have been plenty of people who have tried that before. _He's showing his dominance over us by letting us know that there's nothing we can do about anything that he's doing_. It works.

"Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don't show up," Eric says. "He requested that I find out what's going on with you."

Maybe I was wrong. It sounds like he doesn't want to be here any more than we want him here. He's here because Max told him to be. I exhale quickly through my nose.

"Something funny, initiate?"

"I just thought you were here to intimidate us, not be Max's lap dog." A look of rage consumes Eric's face, and I realize what I just said. My heart leaps into my throat.

"What the _fuck_ did you just say?"

"I didn't mean that," I squeak quickly. I _did_ mean that. I just didn't mean to _say_ it.

"Tell Max that I am satisfied with the position that I currently hold," Four says, effectively diffusing the tension for the moment.

"Will do," Eric says through gritted teeth. He gets up, claps Four too hard on the shoulder, and leaves.

I let out the breath I had been holding. " _Holy shit,_ I can't believe I just said that out loud." I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and rest my elbows on the table. I'm shaking.

"That was _incredibly_ dangerous, Dorothy. Make sure you _never_ talk to Dauntless leadership like that again."

"I don't plan on it," I reply too quickly, my breath almost evading me.

A few second of silence pass before Tris had a question. "Are you two…friends?" How can she think that they were friends? I got more of the _rivals who have to play nice_ vibe between them.

"We were in the same initiation class," he replies. "He transferred from Erudite." I imagine Eric as we know him, but with glasses falling down his nose, reading a book. I would have snorted if I hadn't just _already_ insulted him.

"Were you a transfer too?"

"Jesus Christ, I though I would only have trouble with the Candor having a big mouth. Now I've got Stiffs and Street Rats, too?"

I clench my teeth at his comment. Tris doesn't. "It must be because you're so approachable, " she deadpans. "You know. Like a bed of nails." I _do_ snort at that one.

They stare at each other for a moment before Four retorts, "Careful, Tris." With that, Four makes his escape in the form of another Dauntless member calling his name.

I look back down at my hamburger, only two bites taken out of it. "What?" I hear Tris ask.

"I'm developing a theory," Christina tells her.

"And it is?"

"That you have a death wish," she says before shoving her hamburger into her mouth and biting off a large chunk. "Both of you." We eat in silence for the rest of the time.

After dinner, Four has disappeared without a trace. Instead, we find ourselves lead down a series of barely-lit hallways by Eric. I try to keep my head down and memorize the path to wherever we're going. That is, assuming that we're not going somewhere just so that he can murder me, which is all too likely considering the look in his eyes at dinner. I'm struck by the thought that he could do so without anyone really seeing in this kind of darkness. I push that thought away as quickly as it came.

Nobody speaks a word.

Finally, we stop in front of a wooden door. Eric turns and folds his arms. It's the first time he's looked at us since we left the cafeteria. For all he knows, some of us got lost on the way here. He probably wouldn't care. My stomach twists at the very idea, but I'm not sure it actually has anything to do with it.

"For those of you who don't know, my name is Eric," he says, looking over every transfer. I look down at my feet, poking my toes through the holes at the tops of my sneakers before his eyes get to me. "I am one of five leaders of the Dauntless. We take the initiation process very seriously here, so I volunteered to oversee most of your training."

The world seems to spin and I'm almost sure I'm about to see my dinner again at hearing that, though maybe that's just the nausea that's been setting in. He's going to oversee our initiation, and my first act as an initiate was to insult him? I just made my life about twelve times harder.

The smirk on his face as he continues makes me think that he knows how I'm feeling. "Some ground rules," he starts. "You have to be in the training room by eight o'clock every day. Training takes place every day from eight to six, with a break for lunch. You are free to do whatever you like after six. You will also get some time off between each stage of initiation."

"You are only permitted to leave the compound when accompanied by a Dauntless. Behind this door is the room in which you will be sleeping for the next few weeks. You will notice that there are twelve bunks and only ten of you. We anticipated that a higher proportion of you would make it this far."

"But we started with fourteen." I don't even need to recognize the voice to know it's Christina again.

"There is always at least one transfer who doesn't make it to the compound," Eric replies, picking at his cuticles as if to appear bored. I wish that _he_ hadn't made it to the compound. "Anyway, in the first stage of initiation, we keep transfers and Dauntless-born initiates separate, but that does not mean that you are evaluated separately. At the end of your initiation, your rankings will be determined in comparison with the Dauntless-born initiates. And they are better than you already. So I expect—"

" _Rankings?_ " Asks the mousy Erudite transfer. She was half of the couple that jumped together. I wish that she wouldn't have, I wanted to get into the dorms. "Why are we ranked?"

Eric gives a predatory smile, and in the strange light it looks downright _evil._ "Your ranking serves two purposes. The first is that it determines the order in which you will select a job after initiation. There are only a few _desirable_ positions available." _Any_ position is desirable to living factionless.

"The second purpose," he pauses. _Is to see which ones you can torture the most?_ "is that only the top ten initiates are made members.

It's like someone stabbed me in the gut and twisted the knife. _Mom never mentioned anything like that._

" _What?"_ I don't pay attention to who said it.

"There are eleven Dauntless-borns and ten of you," he continues as though he didn't just drop that bomb on us. "Four initiates will be cut at the end of stage one. The remainder will be cut after the final test."

"What do we do if we're cut?"

Eric's eyes turn straight to mine. I can't look away. "You leave the Dauntless compound," and he tells me what I already know, "and live factionless." The mousy Erudite girl sobs. "At least one of you already knows her way around their sector." He raises a single eyebrow, stretching the three rings that adorn it. I want to rip them out.

"But that's … not fair! If we had known—"

Eric's eyes finally tear away from mine. "Are you saying that if you had known this before the Choosing Ceremony, you wouldn't have chosen Dauntless?"

My voice carries, and this time I know that I'm speaking out loud. So does everyone else. "No."

He holds my gaze again. I glare back harder. I _will_ be Dauntless. My stomach lurches again.

Finally he releases me from his stare. "Good. Because if that _is_ the case, you should get out now. If you are really one of us, it won't matter to you that you might fail. And if it does, you are a coward."

I realize that it really doesn't matter if I might fail. Things can't get any worse than what they were yesterday for me. It can only get better from there.

He pushes the door to the dormitory open. "You chose us. Now we have to choose you."

I'm the first one in the room, but I don't immediately choose a bed. Instead, I race to the bathroom and vomit the two hamburgers I ate at dinner back up. _I really should have paced myself._

There are twelve beds and only ten of us. Two extras. I tell myself that there's no need to rush, that there will be beds available no matter what. I pick myself up off the floor and rinse my mouth out with water from the sink before going back out to the main living area to choose my bed.

I actually end up with a bottom bunk. It's one of the ones straddling the middle of the room, between Peter and Christina. The top bunk of my set is claimed by Molly. I can understand why it was undesirable.

The first thing I do after claiming my bed is return to the bathrooms. The girl's is three beds away, the boy's only two. Our bathroom is fairly clean, but there's no chance at privacy. I don't care. The fact that there's a shower, _an actual shower_ , almost makes me tear up. I hadn't had the chance to look around while I was puking.

I don't wait to get comfortable. I immediately strip out of my threadbare clothes and turn on the water. It barely goes over lukewarm, but _good god_ , as far as I'm concerned, I've found the Promised Land. There are generic-smelling soaps and shampoos in one cabinet, and washcloths and towels in another.

I wash my body and hair both twice. I wash my face three times. I'm disappointed to find that parts of my hair wouldn't come unmatted even as I force shampoo through it with my fingers. I make a mental note to do something about it soon.

Though I don't want to, I finally turn the spray of water off and wrap a towel around my thin form. I finally _feel_ Dauntless. It's like I washed off all of my inhibitions along with the grime. I gather my clothes in one hand and hold the towel up in the other. I'm _not_ putting my old filthy clothes back on.

As I start to step out, I pass the mirror and stop. It's been years since I've seen my face in a decent mirror. I look almost exactly the same as I remember. My jaw still stands strong, my nose still turns up at the end, and my cheeks are still gaunt. But I'm _clean_.

I step back into the main dorm. Everybody is still awake, sitting on their beds and talking or doing nothing. Most of them are wearing Dauntless clothes already, with the exception of two or three people. Tris is one of them.

Sitting on my bed, I realize as I get to it, is an outfit, approximately my size. I drop the towel and pull on all the clothes—cotton leggings, cotton underwear, a sports bra, and a ribbed tank top. I grab my old clothes again, unsure what to do with them.

Molly snorts as she leans against the bed frame. "Didn't know we had a skeleton walking among us," she says with a sneer.

I ignore her and ask to no one in particular, "Do you think they let us burn these? Because I _really_ want to burn these."

"Is there even anything left to burn?" Christina asks.

I stick my head through a hole in what used to be the elbow of my sweater. "Not really," I say, muffled by the thin wool yarn. Christina bursts out laughing, and a few other people chuckle with her. I remove the garment from my head with a wide grin.

"We should probably go to bed," I hear from a few beds over. It's Will, an Erudite transfer. He was the twelfth jumper. "We've got a big day tomorrow. I hear training's going to be hard."

"He's right. We should all get some sleep," says the boy standing beside the light switch. He flips it, and plunges us into darkness. I have a brief moment of irritation and think something along the lines of _Stupid Erudites, thinking they know what's best for everybody._

I ignore it and toss my barely-there old clothes beside the bed. I climb in and pull the covers over myself.

Soon, none of us are speaking, opting to either fall asleep or cry silently. I have no qualms with sleeping in the same room as nine other people, and their breathing is slowly lulling me to sleep.

I'm pulled from my almost slumber by a loud sob. I'm fairly sure that it's one of the people on the far side of the room, closest to the door. A few more sobs follow, and I'm surprised that nobody has yelled at him to shut up yet. Some people have rustled in their covers and sighed, but nobody was doing anything. The sobs don't stop. They have to have been going on for at least fifteen minutes when I finally decide that I've had enough of it. Nobody's going to get any sleep tonight with him sobbing like that, and that will hurt us as a group. I _don't_ want all of us to show that weakness on the first day.

I quietly rise from my own bed, padding toward the crying initiate's bunk. Sure enough, it's Al, the last jumper. He's on the top bunk against the wall, and at some point he sat up so that his feel dangle off. I wonder why it's _him_ of all people, given the fact that he's up there with the most likely to become an actual member. He's well over six foot, and built like a freight train. He just sobs more. Under him is Tris. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell that she's not asleep. _So much for selflessness._

As silently as I can, I climb up onto his bunk and sit right beside him. I try to remember what my mom would do when I'd cry in the middle of the night. I find that I don't have to though, because Al promptly attaches his arms around my waist and lets out another sob into my chest. I freeze for a moment before petting my hand over his head. I shush him quietly. He only lets out one last loud sob, and then they quiet. Within a few minutes he's just crying silently.

My shirt is wet with his tears. "Come on, Al," I whisper to him. "Let's lay you down." He pulls his legs back onto the bed, over my own.

"Don't leave me," he mutters pathetically into my shirt.

"I won't. Let's just lay down, okay?" We maneuver until I'm lying on my back, his arms still wrapped firmly around me, and his waist lies comfortably between my legs. I can't imagine how this could be comfortable for him. No part of me is soft like the bed. "Get some sleep, okay?"

He nods against my chest, and for some reason I act on my sudden urge to kiss the top of his head. With the room finally in relative silence again, I follow my own advice and fall asleep.


	3. Some People Call Me DJ

**A/N: Hope you guys like this chapter! It physically hurt to write some of the dialogue, but since DJ isn't quite as educated as the rest, she's not going to have very good grammar. Yes, that "good" instead of "well" was intentional.**  
 **You can see DJ's hairstyle on my polyvore account queen-of-hell**

 **Chapter 3: Some People Call Me DJ  
**

Our awakening in the morning is anything but pleasant. We're startled awake by the loud _clang_ of metal on metal. Four stands at the foot of the bed I lay on, only his head and shoulders visible. "Everybody ready at eight," he says. As he leaves I see a metal pipe swinging from his hand. He must have hit our bed frame with it.

Al sighs and lets all of his weight fall back onto me, burying his face further into my chest. His stubble burns slightly. "Five more minutes," he whines.

"No more minutes," I counter.

He looks up at me apologetically, but doesn't move from between my legs. "Hey, thanks for helping last night," he says meekly.

"No problem," I slur, running my hand through my hair lethargically. I wince when my fingers reach a matted portion. "Can you maybe get up now, though?"

"Right, sorry." He quickly raises himself onto his knees and crawls off of me.

"What time is it?" Christina whines.

"Seven forty-five," someone else replies. _No breakfast, I guess._ Everyone breaks off into a flurry of motion, scrambling to get ready in the mere fifteen minutes we were given. I am thankful that all I have to do is pull on my new tennis shoes. They're black, like everything else, and they actually fit, and they don't have holes worn in the soles or tops of the toes. I love them.

Everyone is ready by the time fifteen minutes passes. Four, who had been standing outside the dormitory door, begins leading us through passageways and up stairs. I wonder where we're going, but I figure that there's not much point in that. We're going to see whenever we get there.

Finally, he pushes open a door, and the hallway floods with sunlight. Many initiates, not yet awake, shy away from the sudden light. We continue out into the light, and find ourselves on a rooftop. Along the far ledge are targets lined up. In the center is a table littered with handguns. "The first thing you will learn today is how to shoot a gun," he says, just loud enough for all of us to hear. I already know how to do that, in theory. "The second thing is how to win a fight." I've already had practice with _that_ aspect. "Thankfully, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don't need to teach you that."

"Initiation is divided into three stages." I know that, as well, but I only know what's involved in the first stage. Mom always refused to tell me what the second or third stages were. "We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage. The stages are not weighted equally in your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time. Grab a gun."

We all crowd around the table in the middle of the rooftop and each grab a gun. Tris looks like hers is about to bite her, as if she wants nothing more than to drop it and never pick one up again. I can't help but feel the opposite. Just holding the cold metal in my hands makes me feel powerful. I'm not sure I ever want to put it down.

"We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear," Four tells us. "Therefore each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way. The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental."

None of these words sound like his. It's like he's drawling off a badly written script, reading from a boring textbook. Maybe it's the bored tone he uses, but it seems like he's just going through the motions.

"But what…" Peter is fiddling with his gun, yawning as he speaks. "What does firing a gun have to do with… bravery?"

Four flips his gun in his hand and presses the barrel to Peter's forehead. I hear the bullet be pulled into the chamber as he cocks it. The whole room freezes. Peter's mouth stays open, as though the yawn has frozen with us.

"Wake. Up. You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it."

I'm sure that if Four had held that position for another second, Peter would have wet himself, but Four lowers the gun. Peter's eyes harden, but he doesn't say anything. He wants to, as his face turns red with the effort of keeping his mouth shut.

Four paces the line we've subconsciously formed as he speaks. "And to answer your question… you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself."

He stops walking when he gets to me—I'm the final person in the line—and turns on his heel. "This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me." He faces the targets. My mom was once a Dauntless member, and a good one at that. When there were riots, she always wound up holding a stolen gun. When I got old enough to fight for myself, she started teaching me how to hold one. I'd never actually _shot_ one, though. There weren't enough bullets to waste, and it would have brought attention. In a strange way, the gun reminds me of home.

The blast from the shot is almost deafening, and I would have screamed if the sound weren't so familiar. "Go."

I turn to my target and raise my gun. I move my stance the way I remember mom always told me to. I look through the sights. When I'm fairly sure that I'm right on, I exhale and squeeze the trigger. The gun kicks back, but I'm ready for the recoil. Mom warned me about that, too.

The bullet hits the edge of the third circle. Beside me, Tris isn't doing so well. Her bullet hits the outer edge of _my_ target.

We all fire repeatedly. By three shots in, I am consistently hitting the center circle. There are a few holes nearer to the outer edge. Those are Tris's.

I look over to her. "Are you trying to hit your target, or mine?" I ask. "Maybe if you aimed for Will's target, you'd hit your own." She glares.

"Statistically speaking," retorts Will from the other side of her. "You should have hit the target at least once by now. Even by accident."

"Is that so," she says through gritted teeth.

"Yeah. I think you're actually defying nature." Tris turns to her target with a determined face and shoots. The bullet hits edge of her target.

"So you see, I'm right. The stats don't lie."

"That had nothing to do with the stats, Will," I defend, though she smiles slightly at him. "It had everything to do with this little fairy here." She laughs and continues shooting. Five shots later, she hits a bull's-eye. I'm proud of her. Then, I remember last night, her just lying there while Al sobbed, and the pride leaves.

When we break for lunch, I'm happy to put my gun down, despite my thoughts of not doing so at the beginning of the day. My fingers are cramped, and I have to pull on them to make them straight. I try to walk alone, but not far inside the building Al catches up and falls into stride beside me. He's well over a foot taller, I realize.

"I never ever actually, uh, got your name," he says with a hand on the back of his thick neck.

"It's Dorothy."

"Huh." He sounds surprised.

"Something wrong with it?"

He shrugs. "It just sounds old for you. It doesn't quite fit. When I think Dorothy, I think of a grandma baking pies in her little kitchen." _Why does he care?_

"Some people used to call me DJ," I admit.

"DJ? That fits better, I think." We walk in silence for a few minutes. "So what's your favorite thing about Dauntless, DJ?"

I smile. "Everything. Mostly the showers," I reply. "And the food."

He grins, letting out a soft laugh. "I'm glad you like the food. Looks like you need it," he says and pinches at the skin at my side. I playfully swat at his hand. I can tell in his eyes that he doesn't mean any harm, so I don't see any.

"What's yours?"

He grins. "I think my favorite thing is how tough everybody is, you know?" I don't know. In fact, that might be my least favorite thing. It makes me feel like I stick out. It will probably be more of a comfort once I actually _am_ Dauntless, but for the moment it just feel unwelcoming. I nod anyway.

We walk into the cafeteria and he picks up two trays. "I got yours," he tells me with a smile. He puts different dishes on each of our plates. When we get to the end of the line, he turns toward the tables. "Where should we sit?"

I scan the cafeteria and find the Christina is motioning us over to their table. I nudge Al. We sit with them, but for some reason Tris won't even look at Al the whole meal.

"Hey, we had a class together during school," Cristina tells Al.

Al looks at her blankly. "We did?"

"Yeah! We had Math together. First hour?" Al purses his lips and shakes his head. He doesn't remember. "Oh, come on. You don't remember me? We were just in class together a few _days_ ago. And I am _not_ a quiet person." I _know_ that much is true. I don't think she knows the meaning of the word quiet.

"I slept through Math most of the time," Al explains. "It was first hour!"

I stop listening after that. They keep talking about school, and listening makes me feel detached from the rest of the initiates. It reminds me of how different our lives have been up until this point; how much our experiences differ.

"Can I sit here?" I look up from my food. Will is standing there, tapping the table with his knuckles.

"What, you don't want to hang out with your Erudite buddies?" Christina asks.

"They aren't my 'buddies,'" Will almost spits. "Just because we were in the same faction doesn't mean we get along. Plus, Edward and Myra are dating, and I would rather not be the third wheel." Sure enough, two tables over, the couple who jumped together are sitting too close for comfort, stealing kisses every once and a while.

I hear a hiss of breath from Tris, and she looks away from them. "Do they have to do that in _public?_ "

Al frowns at her. "She just kissed him. It's not like they're stripping naked."

"A kiss is not something you do in public." I understand her completely. I've been around plenty of Abnegation people in my life, and they _never_ outwardly show affection. Still, this isn't Abnegation, it's Dauntless. Christina, Will, Al, and I give her a knowing smile.

"What?"

"Your Abnegation is showing," Christina teases. "The rest of us are all right with a little affection in public."

"Oh." She tries to sound nonchalant. "Well… I guess I'll have to get over it, then."

"Or you can stay frigid," Will says. I think it's incredibly callous despite the playful look in his eyes. "You know. If you want."

Christina throws a roll at him, but he catches it and eats it. "Don't be mean to her. Frigidity is in her nature." I've never heard anybody use the word frigidity before, but I can guess its meaning.

"Sort of like being a know-it-all is in yours," I add to Christina's comment.

"Or like being a hood rat is in DJ's," Al says, wrapping his arm happily around my shoulders. Tris flinches slightly at the show of platonic affection. He looks down at me as though realizing that I might be offended by what he just said.

"Exactly," I tell him, quelling any fears he may or may not have had.

"I am not _frigid!"_ she exclaims, but her red face gives her away.

"Don't worry about it," Will coos. "It's endearing. Look, you're all red." Her blush deepens. We all laugh, Tris along with us. It _is_ endearing. I only wish I had that kind of naivety anymore.

After lunch, we are led to a new room. The area itself is huge. The room's wooden floor is cracked, and it creaks with every step. I think that a concrete floor would better suit the space. In the center of the floor is a large circle, and hanging along one end of the room are several faded black punching bags. Along the left wall is a green board. The other initiates look like they recognize the board, but I've never seen one before. On the board, our names are written in alphabetical order.

We line up behind the punching bags. Four stands in the middle so that everybody can see him.

"As I said this morning, next you will learn how to fight," he tells us. "The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges—which you will need, if you intend to survive life as a Dauntless."

Oh, I intend to survive, all right.

"We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will start to fight each other. So I recommend that you pay attention. Those who don't learn fast will get hurt."

He names a few different punches and a few basic kicks, demonstrating right after explaining. I already know most of them, though I probably won't use many. Mom made sure I knew how to protect myself on the streets, and that means playing dirty and using whatever I can to fight off an attacker. Punches and kicks don't give me any advantage. Four sets us loose on the punching bags, weaving himself in the initiates and occasionally giving pointers.

I find myself between Peter and Al. The room is filled with the sound of skin hitting tough vinyl. I notice that my bag moves substantially less than the ones on either side of me, but I'm not surprised. My muscle mass is pathetic thanks to years of almost starving. I still try to hit with as much force as I can.

When Four gets to me, he stops. "You don't have a lot of muscle," he says. "You would be better off using your knees and elbows."

"I was under the impression that we were supposed to be practicing the punches and kicks that you showed us, not trying to win against the punching bag," I heave.

"Remember to keep tension in your core," he spits as he walks toward Al. The way that his fists clench makes me think that he wants to punch my gut to see if I'm keeping tension there. I continue practicing until Four dismisses us for dinner. By then, my knuckles are bleeding and my shins hurt from collisions with the vinyl.

I walk out of the room with Al. "You really shouldn't talk back like that, you know," he tells me. I know he's talking about my retort to Four. "Did you see the look on his face?"

"Yeah, I saw it good enough," I reply, forcing myself to sound bored. "He's not the one who really scares me."

"He doesn't scare you? He scares the hell out of me. I feel like I can't guess what he's going to do next. Maybe it's his voice, but he creeps me out."

Once we reach the Pit, Al turns around to face Christina and Tris. "I want to get a tattoo," he announces, walking backward. I make a note to tell him if he's going to run into anyone.

"A tattoo of what?" Will asks from behind the girls. We stop and all face each other when it doesn't seem like we'll get in anybody's way.

"I don't know," Al laughs. "I just want to feel like I've actually left my old faction. Stop crying about it."

"Yeah, you really need to figure out how to quiet that down," I say with a smile. I can see a tattoo maybe helping Al with that problem. Maybe if he felt more like he belonged here, he wouldn't miss Candor anymore. Maybe the same was true for me. I didn't want a tattoo just yet, though.

"I think you're right," Christina tells him. "We're half in, half out right now. If we want all the way in, we should look the part."

She pointedly looks at Tris. "No, I will not cut my hair or dye it a strange color." I hadn't thought about that option. "Or pierce my face."

"How about your bellybutton?" Christina counters.

"Or your nipple," Will snorts.

Tris groans, but I point at him. "Now, that's not a bad idea." They all stare at me blankly. Tris turns bright red. "I'm joking! I'll meet you at the tattoo parlor later. I'm going up to the hair salon."

Christina gasps. "But your hair's so long!"

"Yeah, but it looks like the 'before' picture on a rescued dog. I don't even remember what my natural hair texture is. I'm getting it all cut off. Maybe dyed. I'm not sure yet. But it's changing." I turn to leave. "Catch you later."

Two minutes later, I find myself in the hair salon. The light here is brighter, probably because they need to see to cut the hair the way they need to.

I'm greeted by a tall, willowy girl with loose teal curls. "Hey. I'm Scout. What can I do you for?"

I grab my hair, which hangs down past my waist. "I want this gone."

She raises her eyebrows. The ring that adorns one glints in the light. "Follow me," she tells me, leading me to one of the black leather chairs. "You're one of the transfer initiates, right?"

I nod.

"Jesus H. Christ, what faction were you in that let your hair get this bad?" She asks while running her fingers over the knots.

I look down and my face gets hot. I can see that I'm red in the mirror in front of me. "A-actually, I… I was factionless before."

She freezes. "Oh." She recovers well, though. "What were you thinking?" She asks, motioning to my hair.

I wasn't _thinking_ anything. I was _thinking_ that I wanted change, but I don't know exactly what change. "I trust you," I finally say.

"Okay, did you just want it cut, or do you want it dyed too?"

"Whatever you think I should." She spins me around in the chair, looking at me head on rather than in the mirror. She grabs her chin, thinking.

"First things first, I have to cut off the matted part. I'll get started on that and brainstorm while I work," she tells me after a moment. Suddenly, I'm spun back around and she's got scissors in her hands, cutting off the first tendril. She drops it to the ground. There's no going back now.

Finally, she's done with the preliminary cut. My hair is choppy and reaches my shoulders. She turns me around to look at me again. "I'm feeling something coming to me," She says with eyes narrowed. Then her eyes light up and she smiles. "How short were you planning on going?"

I grin back. "As short as you're thinking right now."

"Okay. I'm going to go get some dye ready. I'll be right back. You did say you're good with a dye job, right?"

"Absolutely." She disappears for a few minutes.

"Okay, you're not allowed to see your hair until the end, starting now." I have to wait in anticipation as she bleaches and dyes and cuts my hair. I start to doubt my decision to put the length into her hands when she turns on the clippers, but I think I manage to hide it well.

She sprays a little bit of foam onto her hands and distributes it through my wet hair. Then, she dries it using her blow drier. After what seems like (and what might very well have been) hours, she puts her hands on my shoulders. "Are you ready to see the new you?" She asks in a quiet voice. I nod eagerly. "Are you sure?" I nod again.

She smiles and turns me around slowly to face the mirror. I'm speechless. My mouth forms a little round "O" as I touch the now vibrant red curls. All but two inches at the roots of my hair are dyed a dark red. Both sides of my head are shaved less than half an inch long, and the top tapers in length and thickness down the middle of my head. At the base of my neck, it's about an inch and a half wide, and an inch long. At the front, the strip is about three inches thick and six inches long. The longest curl in the front hangs just beside my mouth.

It looks Dauntless.

"Al's gonna freak," I say under my breath.

"Al?" she asks with a smirk. I hadn't realized I said that loud enough to hear.

"My—" What do I call him? "My best friend," I explain, realizing that that's what he's quickly becoming.

"Ah. So what do _you_ think?"

"I love it!" I exclaim.

"You do?" I nod excitedly, trying to keep tears out of my eyes. "I'm glad. You look good," she tells me.

I stare at it for a few more minutes before going to the front desk. "How many points do I owe you?" I ask her. Here in Dauntless, every member (and initiate) gets a certain number of points to spend each month.

She grins. "Yours is on the house, baby."

"No, I can't—"

"Think of it as a public service. Just make sure you send your friends my way if they ever need anything done."

"Thank you _so_ much, Scout," I say, not fighting the tears in my eyes this time. She rounds the desk to hug me.

"It was my pleasure," she says, wrapping me into her arms. "Now go find your friends!" She pushes me out of the shop with a laugh.

I race down the paths to the tattoo parlor, slowing to walk casually into the shop. I locate Al in one of the chairs. A small, thin man is finishing a tattoo on his arm. Will and Tris both sit in other chairs. "Hey, Al," I say quietly.

"H—" His eyes go wide. "Holy—" He puts the hand that's not being tattooed over his mouth. "Oh my god."

"What do you think?"

"What do I—Jesus Christ, it looks _amazing,_ DJ!" He grins widely. "It's so…"

"Dauntless?"


	4. I Don't Want to Fight my Best Friend

**Chapter 4: I Don't Want to Fight My Best Friend**

"Since there are an even number of you, every one of you will be fighting today," says Four, revealing the board in the training room. He glances at Eric, standing in the corner, and gives me a look I can't place. I think I understand once I look at the board. I've got the first fight. _With Al._ I get the feeling that he's not the one who arranged the fights. I turn to glare at Eric myself, and find him smirking at me. I avert my glare.

None of us know each other's skill level yet because none of us have seen each other fight yet. Al casts me a scared look. I'm not sure whether he's scared that I'll beat him or that he'll beat me. I start stretching my sore muscles. This is going to be a learning experience, at least.

I overhear Christina complaining about going against "the tank." Next to her name is Molly's.

"Dorothy, Al. In the ring." My gut clenches as we walk toward the ring. I know how I get when I'm fighting. It isn't pretty, and I don't want Al to get hurt.

We face each other and put our hands up by our faces. "Al," I say so only he can hear me. "When I fight…" I'm not sure how to phrase what I'm about to say. "The only time I've ever had to fight, I've been fighting for my life. If I start to fight dirty… I want you to know, it's nothing personal. Like you said, being a hood rat's in my nature."

"Stop jabbering and fight," Eric shouts. He and Four are close to the ring, ready to jump in if things get out of hand, I assume.

"Don't hold back, cause I won't," I say. He nods. Neither of us wants to throw the first punch, but soon Al swings at me. I duck under his arm and land a right uppercut to his chin. His head snaps up despite the weakness of the blow. I step back to where he can't reach me.

He looks at me as though he's just realized that I can hit him. I step forward and use the momentum to kick him in the ribs, but I have to take a hard hit to the jaw to do it. Al grunts, and I stagger back. Pain shoots through my jaw, and I taste blood. If I were fighting anybody else, if I were still on the streets, I would have smiled with bloody teeth. It would have served both to show how little they were affecting me and intimidate them. I keep my lips sealed now.

I look for spots of weakness, but I find surprisingly few. His arms cover everything that they need to. He only opens himself up to get hurt when he swings. He's slow, and the only hits he's made have been right hooks. I lurch forward and dodge Al's punch. My foot wraps around his and I pull. His back hits the creaky wooden floor hard. I climb on top of him, straddling him before he has the chance to get back up. I hear a catcall from behind us.

I ignore it and land three punches in quick succession, two in the face and one in the sternum. I don't notice him move, but his fist hits the ribs on my left side so hard that I roll off of him. Both of us scramble up.

I flip my red fringe out of my eyes, trying to breathe despite the pain in my side. Neither of us wants to hit the other again. Al looks over to Four, but the result must not have been favorable, because he turns back to me and continues circling. I'm not sure how long we circle each other, but it must have been too long for Eric.

"Do you think this is a leisure activity? Should we break for naptime? Fight each other!"

I'm ready to follow his order, but Al, it seems, has had enough. He drops his hands. "But… Is it scored or something? When does the fight end?"

"It ends when one of you is unable to continue," Eric replies maliciously.

"According to Dauntless rules," Four interjects, "one of you could also concede."

Eric smirks like he knows something the rest of us don't. "According to the old rules. In the _new_ rules, no one concedes."

"A brave man acknowledges the strength of others," Four says.

"A brave man never surrenders," Eric counters. They stare at each other, but I know that Eric is the one with authority. He'll win this dick-measuring contest hands down.

"Good thing that rule didn't exist when we fought," Four almost whispers, barely audible. Eric looks like he's about to attack him.

"This is ridiculous," Al says. I'm not sure if he's talking about the rule or their pissing contest. "What's the point of beating her up? We're in the same faction!"

I know that they won't let us out until one of us is unable to continue. I just need to convince Al to start fighting again. "Oh, you think you're going to win?" I goad. "You think you can even get in one more hit?" Al looks at me, confused and a little bit hurt, but I need to continue. "Come on, hit me with your best shot, slowpoke." I put my hands up again, but Al still stays defenseless. "That is, unless you're scared," I add.

He clenches his jaw and raises his fists again. He swings, surprisingly fast. I duck. When he swings again, I lunge close enough to slam my elbow under his ribs and get out before his arm comes back in. Enraged, Al charges at me like a bull. Suddenly, it's not Al charging at me. It's Collin. Collin was the last person I fought before coming to Dauntless. I'd nearly lost, but I left him bleeding in an alley. I'm still not sure if he survived.

I dodge Coll— _Al,_ but my mind's slip slows me down. He grabs my arm so that I can't go further, and uses all of his strength and the momentum from the charge to drive his fist into the side of my face. Pain blossoms from my jaw and cheek bone. I stumble away, holding the side of my face. White dots impede my vision, and Al takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around my neck from behind. I try to stomp on his instep, but he moves his foot out of the way.

My vision starts to fade, and I'm getting desperate. I force myself to twist in his grasp just enough to slam my elbow into his nose. He stumbles back, holding his bleeding nose. He turns his back away from me. _This needs to stop._ I can't let him recover if I want this to end any time soon. I slam my shin into the back of his knees, and he drops onto them. I quickly move in front of him and slam my knee into his face. He falls to the ground and the light leaves his eyes as they roll up into the back of his head.

"Dorothy wins." Four circles my name on the board.

I kneel down next to him, brushing my thumb over his cheek. "Al?" He doesn't react. "Al, you need to get up," I say quietly. My hand is dwarfed by his face. How I managed to beat him, I'm not quite sure. I've only ever fought someone this large once before. I didn't win that time. "Al," I say, starting to get worried. His eyes start to flutter open. "There you go."

"Get him out of the ring," I hear Eric's voice. Though I can't see him, I can hear something in his voice. He's _very_ pleased with himself.

I pull Al's arm over my shoulders and put my arm around his waist. With all my strength, I try to pull both of us more or less to our feet. He doesn't budge at all. Four comes over and grabs his other side. Together, we get him out of the ring.

"Next up—Molly and Christina." Eric shouts.

"Let's get him to the infirmary," Four says, and we carry him out. Half way there, Al's eyes close and even more weight dropped onto us. He'd lost consciousness again.

"You sure you should leave them with Eric?" I ask him, and I think I see a semblance of a smile on his lips.

"Well, you're not there, so I think their chances of survival are twice as high," He says. I'm pretty sure he's joking.

Al doesn't get released from the infirmary until lunchtime. The nurse there, a woman with darker skin and more earrings than I could count, tells me that Al's nose is broken. I could have told her that from the angle of it. Still, confirmation makes guilt bubble in my gut. I can't be there when she sets it.

In the cafeteria, I help Al sit in the seat next to me. All of them look like they'd seen their own death. Nobody speaks. Neither Tris nor Christina eats. It looks to me like Four's prediction about their safety after my absence wasn't exactly accurate. A glance at Christina's face tells me that she lost her fight.

After lunch, we watch the last two fights. Peter beats Drew brutally, and Will easily beats Myra. The board says that Tris lost hers against Edward. The rest of the time is spent at the punching bags. I attack mine viciously, imagining with every hit that it's Eric's face I'm driving my fist into. We're dismissed at six o'clock on the dot.

I race to catch up to Al, who was one of the first to leave. It seems like he's deliberately walking quickly, and I almost have to run to catch up. I call out his name, but he doesn't stop. I finally catch up to him. "Al, I'm so sorry about the fight today. It's just… they weren't gonna let us go if one of us was still conscious, and I know that it takes a lot to knock me out. I was just trying to get it over with," I explain quickly, not sure if he's going to race away from me.

He sighs. " I know," he grumbles. "I'm more angry that we were put into that situation than I am that you knocked me out. I'm just not in a good mood, and I didn't want to ruin your victory."

I scoff. "I'm just as pissed as you are," I tell him. "I didn't wanna fight my best friend." His eyebrows shoot up and he looks over to me with wide eyes. It strikes me that he might not consider us best friends at all. My face gets hot. "I mean, not that… I just thought that, with everything that's happened… I've never really—"

He silences me by wrapping his arm around my shoulders with a wide grin. "Of course we're best friends." I grin back up to him, craning my neck. "So, since we're best friends, can I ask you a question?" I nod, unsure. "When we were fighting, right as I was… going after you, there was something in your eyes. Like, you weren't actually there. What…?" He doesn't know how to phrase the question.

"What was I seeing?" He nods, realizing that he hadn't upset me by asking. "I told you, I didn't know what fighting was gonna be like after only fighting for my life before. It kinda… I guess my mind tried to make up for the lack of desperation, since I wasn't actually trying to hurt you. But you're right. I really wasn't here." I take a deep breath. "Or maybe you weren't? It was like I was seeing the last guy I fought, not you," I finally say.

"What happened with that guy?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.

"I… I think I'd rather not talk about him," I answer quietly.

"Oh, okay." He doesn't say anything else about it. Instead, he changes the subject. "I thought you said you weren't holding back on me!"

I grin. "I lied."

Everybody seems to be much better at dinner than they were at lunch. They're finally talking again. "I can't believe they let a goddamn sadist like him _teach children_ ," Christina rants.

"We're not children, Christina. That's why we're here," Will reminds her. I'm lost.

"Oh, yes, absolutely," she says. "Because that totally gives him permission to try and _kill me._ "

"Whoa, what? I'm lost, someone fill me in," Al says, leaning forward.

Will starts. "Well, Christina tried to concede during her fight—"

"So Eric lets me, which was weird, right? He says, 'hey, let's take a break,'" I almost laugh at her mocking Eric voice. "He leads us to the goddamn chasm and _orders_ me to _hang myself from the railing._ For five minutes!"

"Holy—are you okay?!"

"Yeah, I'm fine now, but still, who hangs somebody off a ledge? Who the hell does that? Psychos, that's who!"

"Well, looks like Four was wrong about you guys being safe without me," I mutter.

"What are you talking about?" Al asks, being the only one other than Will who wasn't sitting at our table the first night.

"It's kinda a long story," I tell him.

"Not really," Christina interjects. "The first night, she called Eric Max's lap dog."

He gasps. "And he let you _live?_ "

"Kind of. I think he's just drawing out my torture until he kills me," I say nonchalantly. "He's the reason we had to fight each other today, I could see it written all over his greasy little face."


	5. The Meaning of Respect

**Chapter 5: The Meaning of Respect**

I wake the next morning, drenched in a cold sweat, Collin's face seared into the backs of my eyelids. Al, who last night insisted on holding me (he wanted to be sure that I knew he wasn't upset with me) tightens his arms and pulls me closer with a mutter of "It's okay, I've got you."

I'm too hot. My heart is pounding too hard. I can't relax. "Let me up," I grumble into his chest.

He huffs in his half-sleep, so I hit his chest. "C'mon, let me up. I gotta pee," I urge. With a groan, he rolls onto his back and releases his death grip. I roll out of the bed—mine this time—and stumble to the bathroom. My stomach lurches and I gag, but somehow stop myself from vomiting. I can feel my heart still racing.

I close my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing. _In for seven, hold for four, out for eleven. In for seven, hold for four, out for eleven. In for seven, hold for four, out for eleven._ My heart finally assumes a normal pace, and I turn on one of the showers. Another shower is already going, I realize. Tris is standing on the very far edge, washing shampoo out of her hair. I let almost scalding water and shampoo chase away the thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated on my skin. When the timed water runs out, I wrap a towel around my chest and step back out.

Al is absent from my bed, but I find him sitting on Tris's bed. The bed is bare, with no sheets, and I wonder why for a moment before looking at the frame itself. "Stiff" is written in bright red spray paint. _The bedding must have been painted, too_ , I think. Peter still stands by his bed, fluffing his pillow with a smug smile on his face. _No questions about who did it._

I have a feeling that Al and Tris are waiting on me. "You guys go ahead and head to the training room," I tell them. "I'll catch up in a minute."

"You sure?" Al asks, eyes glancing so that only I could see them over to Peter.

"Yeah, go," I wink at Al. I might have only known him for three days, but I can already see his crush on Tris.

I see Tris cast me a worried glance, flicking her eyes over to Peter, but they leave.

I grab clothes from my drawers and lay them out on my bed. Peter still stands next to his bed, smirking. "Do you plan on leaving?"

He smiles. "Nah, I think I'm enjoying the view." I roll my eyes and pull my underwear and pants on under my towel. "Why do you hang out with that motley crew?" He asks, changing out of his own sleep clothes.

"'Cause they like me," I reply simply. "Why do you hang out with yours?"

"Molly and Drew? Oh, we've been friends since, like, we came out of the womb. Our moms worked together," He tells me. "The daycare ladies hated us."

I chuckle, turning away and dropping the towel. I grab my tight sports bra and pull it over my head. "Where'd you get that scar?"

I know exactly which one he's talking about. "Riot, two years ago. Do you ever stop talking?" I pull on my black tank top and sit on the bed, putting on and lacing up my tennis shoes.

"Candor, remember?"

"Right."

"So how's your friend feel about you beating the shit out of him yesterday?"

"He's fine," I reply, standing up. "I kinda hope it lit a fire under his ass, y'know? Made him realize that this is real life now."

"You know, you might have done well in Candor," he tells me, standing from his bed the moment I do the same. "Now come on, we're going to be late for training if we don't leave now." Half way to the training room, Peter looks at me. "You know, you could always hang out with us, if you wanted," he proposes. I can't quite place why, but my heart starts to race. His group is by far brutal. _Does he think I can help them keep up in the ranks?_

"I'd feel out of place, with you guys having been friends as long as you have. I think I'll stick with my mess of misfits," I reply after a brief moment of thought. With that, I open the door to the training room.

We're the last ones to enter. I check the board for the fighting opponents.

 _Al v. Molly_

 _Peter v. Tris_

 _Will v. Christina_

 _Edward v. Myra_

 _Dorothy v. Drew_

"Good luck," Peter tells me before going to his friends. I join mine just as Al is called up to fight. Tris is almost white with fear. Peter won't go easy on her. I know this for sure. She doesn't stand a chance.

I look over to Drew and Peter, standing next to each other. Peter's eyes hold a smile. He knows that today will be an easy day for him as well as I do. Drew stands next to him, almost more bruises than skin. I know that if I win today, it will be soured because he's already injured. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I turn my attention back to the ring just as Al lands a hard punch to Molly's temple and she falls to the ground. Next fight is Tris and Peter. Peter saunters up confidently, arms crossed over his chest, while Tris slinks forward.

"You okay there, Stiff?" I can hear him ask. "You look like you're about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry."

Tris looks away from him, and he goes into a fighting stance. _As if he really needs one, fighting Tris._ "Come on, Stiff. Just one little tear. Maybe some begging."

In retaliation, she swings her foot. He catches it and pulls. She falls to the ground and scrambles up quickly.

"Stop playing with her," Eric snaps. "I don't have all day."

I can't watch any more. I turn away and focus my attention more on my stretching routine. Yesterday's shortened version hadn't helped at all, and between my shoulder blades is tight and sore.

My attention is brought back to the ring by a scream, shrill and filled with pain. Peter kicks Tris again. _Where the hell did Four go?_ Without thinking, I open my mouth. "Enough!"

Peter stops and Eric's eyes light with rage. I can tell from across the room. _I can't piss him off much more than I already have. At least that one wasn't a personal remark._ He stomps toward me. "Excuse me, initiate?"

I stand toe to toe with him. "She's had enough," I say through gritted teeth. "She can't continue. Or are those not the rules anymore?"

He steps away from me, body relaxing but none of the maliciousness leaving his eyes. "Somebody get her the fuck out of the ring."

Al rushes to pull Tris out, and Will takes her once she's out. They leave, presumably to the infirmary. "The schedule just changed. Dorothy fights now." I cast an apologetic glance over to Drew, who sighs and starts toward the ring. "No, you stay there, initiate," Eric says, shrugging off his jacket casually.

"Get in the ring. We're fighting." I can honestly say that I wasn't expecting this much of a reaction. _Maybe once he kicks my ass, he'll back off._

I sulk to the ring, nerves brewing in my stomach. Al stares at me wide-eyed, and almost crying with worry. I shoot him a smile that comes off more as a grimace.

Once I'm in the ring, I put my hands up. Eric does the same. "You need to learn the meaning of respect," he spits at me quietly.

"I'll learn it when there's someone here who deserves it," I counter. "Ever notice how I don't talk back to Four?"

He takes his first swing. I'm able to block it with my arm, but I don't think it was any less painful than taking it to the face. I'm not able to block, or even see, the kick that lands hard on my ribs; the same place Al's fist had landed yesterday. I stumble to the side, but don't fall.

His fist comes at me fast, and I don't block this one. It hits my jaw hard and blood fills my mouth. Immediately, his other fist slams into my eye. I think I hear something crunch _. I need to get away from him._ I step backward to the edge of the ring, as far as I can get from him. He follows. "Had enough already?" He asks.

I offer a bloody grin in reply. His smirk turns into a scowl and he kicks me in the stomach. The air leaves my lungs, and my knees buckle beneath me. I'm immediately thrown onto my back. Eric punches at my face, and I turn just quick enough that his fist slams into the ground where my face had just been. I have no doubt that the hit would have knocked me out. I kick out at him, and my foot hits near his solar plexus. I scramble to get back to my feet, but my attempts are futile.

He kicks me in the side. I cry out, and I don't think I've ever seen someone so happy to hear me make any noise. He does it again, three more times. Then I curl into myself, protecting my neck. He peppers my body with kicks, obviously circling around me to find the most vulnerable places.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hear. _Four._ I'm so happy I almost cry.

"I'm teaching this initiate to respect. Her. Superiors." He punctuates the last three words with kicks. "Don't forget which one of us is the leader here, Four."

"Don't forget which one of us is the trainer," he counters. I relax and start to uncurl. That might just get Eric to stop. He growls in defeat, but drives one more kick, this one slamming with outrageous force into my face. Everything goes black.

"Dorothy." I don't want to open my eyes. "Dorothy." Nobody I like still calls me that. Maybe if I don't open my eyes, they'll go away.

A soft kick is delivered to my foot. I grunt. "Open your eyes." The voice holds authority. And a self-satisfied tone. _Eric._ Despite my apprehensions, my eyes flutter open. Correction, my _eye_ flutters open. The left one is swollen shut. "Get up." I force myself into a sitting position, and he pulls me roughly to my feet. "Get in the ring."

"What?" _Didn't we just go through this? Does he want to beat me again?_

"Your fight's up," he tells me, as though he hadn't just been beating me.

"Huh?"

He smiles. His lips pull around his piercings, a conspicuous lack of bruises on his face. "What, you thought you wouldn't have to do your fight? Think again." I look up at him, still dazed. "Better hurry. Drew's already in the ring."

I hurriedly stumble toward the ring. Who knows what he'll do if I don't?

Four, always the voice of reason, purses his lips. "Dorothy, you don't have to—"

"No!" I exclaim quickly. That's what Eric wants me to do. He wants me to admit defeat. If I'm going to lose this fight, it's not going to be by forfeit. "I can do this."

"There's no shame in not fighting right now," he says, a worried inflection in his voice. I ignore him and put my hands up, facing Drew.

"Don't hold back," I tell him. He swings. I block with my arm, and pain shoots through it. A bruise has already formed from my fight with Eric. I make a mental note not to block with that arm if I can help it.

He swings again. He's slow, slower than Al. I duck the punch and land a weak one of my own on his jaw. As I pull back, his hand finds my hair, pulling as hard as he can on the short strands on the back. He steps close to me, and I can smell his sweat. He brings his other hand back, and I know I can't let it hit me if I want to stay conscious.

I bring my knee up into his gut. His fist falls and he almost doubles over, forgetting that his hand is fisted in my hair. I pull his head closer and rest it on my shoulder; jamming my knee into his solar plexus so many times I lose count. When he tries to bring his arms around my waist to gain the upper hand, I force my leg between us and kick him away, panting.

He's doubled over, trying to catch his breath after my assault. I don't let him. _Get him on the floor._ I kick the backs of his knees and he falls. Pull his head back and wrap my arm tightly around his neck in a sleeper hold. I'm glad I remember the day my mom taught me this move. I apply pressure to his windpipe and wait until his body goes limp before letting him go.

I turn to Eric and Four. Both of their eyes are wide. My loud panting is the only sound in the room.

"Dorothy wins," Four finally announces, surprised. "Break for lunch." I step forward, out of the ring. My legs give out beneath me and everything goes black again.

This time, when I wake up, I'm not still on the hard ground of the training room, but a plush white bed. I open my right eye, and the left one stays sealed shut. I'm in the infirmary. Al sits next to my bed, Christina and Will next to a bed that I assume holds Tris. Christina holds an ice pack to her jaw.

"Hey, there's our little honey badger," Al says. I roll my eyes. _Eye._

"Will beat your ass?" I slur to Christina. My jaw racks with pain, but I smirk.

She smiles. "Yeah. Another hit to the jaw," she laughs. "How are you feeling?"

I actually hadn't thought about that. My ribs are throbbing, wrapped tight enough to make breathing hard, my face is swollen and painful everywhere, and my leg aches where Al has his hand on it. "I've had worse," I reply. I'm lying. "How do I look?"

"Like you fought a bear and lost," Al says with a laugh. I grimace.

"At least you have all the teeth you started the day with," Will jokes. Al puts his hand on my bruised shoulder. I moan and he snatches his hand away.

Then I remember _why_ I feel like this. "How's Tris?" I ask.

"She's alive, thanks to you. I don't know when Peter would have stopped if you hadn't have yelled," Al says, worried.

"I don't think it would have gone that far. But how bad? Is her eye already black?"

"What happened to your face?" Our eyes shoot over to the speaker. Tris is awake, sitting up and looking at me with a slightly disgusted look on her face. Her eye is, indeed, bruised and swollen shut.

"Look who's talking. We need matching eye patches," I say with a smile despite the pain.

"Well, I already know what happened to _my_ face. I was there." She grimaces. "Sort of."

"Did you just make a _joke_ , Tris? Will asks with a grin. "We should get you on painkillers more often if you're going to start cracking jokes. Oh, and to answer your question—she sav—"

I don't let him finish. I can't let Tris know that this happened because I was defending her, it would destroy her. "I challenged Eric's authority, so he beat the shit out of me."

She gasps. "He just…"

"Well, he gave me the chance to fight back. Kinda. I just—it doesn't matter," I amend. "He decided I'd fight him instead of Drew."

Christina scoffs. "Instead of? DJ, stop defending him. You fought _both_ of them."

"I'm lost," Tris says finally.

"I fought Eric," I start.

"Got your ass beat by Eric," Al interrupts, then turns his attention to the small blonde. "And then he woke her up and forced her to fight Drew at her scheduled fighting time."

"So you lost _two_ fights today?" She asks.

Al grins and lightly touches my shoulder. There's pride in his eyes. "Nope. Our little Honey Badger gut up and, exhausted, bruised, and one eye already swollen shut, _beat_ Drew. She lost one fight today, against a leader. I, for one, don't think there's any shame in that."

Tris smiles, then grimaces. "You feeling okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," she nods, though I don't believe her. "Just wish I could stay here forever so I never have to see Peter again."

"Don't worry about Peter," says Will "He'll at least get beat up by Edward, who has been studying hand-to-hand combat since we were ten years old. For fun."

"I think DJ could take him," Al says with a smile.

"Good," Christina says, checking her watch. "I think we're missing dinner. Do you want us to stay here?"

Tris and I both shake our heads. "I'm fine," she says.

Christina and Will stand, but Al waves them ahead

"I just wanted to tell you that you missed Eric's announcement. We're going on a field trip tomorrow, to the fence, to learn about Dauntless jobs," he says, alternating his gaze between Tris and I. There's something in his eyes, an almost pleading look, that's telling me to get lost.

"Thanks for the heads up, buddy," I say, forcing myself into a sitting position and swinging my legs off the bed. "I'm going to see if I can find Lex to get us sorted out."

Tris looks vaguely confused. "Lex is the medic who was here yesterday," Al tells her. I force my legs to support my weight, because if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to be a good wingman.

I try as hard as I can to not limp as I walk toward the medic's office. When I swing the door open, Lex jumps, then sighs.

"You shouldn't be up, DJ," she tells me.

I grin. "I'm fine. Plus, Al's out there flirting with Tris, so I thought I'd give them some room." I sit in the other chair in the office and prop my feet up on her desk. "So give me the run down. What's my damage?"

Lex grabs my file out of the mess on her desk. Reading off the paper, she tells me, "Extensive bruising, some deep into the musculature, broken nose, three fractured ribs, fractured mandible and supraorbital ridge—"

"Lex," I cut her off. "English, please."

"Jaw and brow bone. You know, if I were anybody else, you wouldn't get away with interrupting like that."

I motion to my face with a painful grin. "I think I figured that out. There goes my plans of getting an eyebrow piercing after stage 1," I say with a laugh.

"Looks that way. With the medicine I'm going to send with you, the bones should heal by the end of stage three. If you feel dizzy or nauseous at all tonight, come back up here." She grabs an orange bottle of pills and hands them to me. "Take these twice a day for three weeks. Eat soft foods for a while, drink through a straw, don't lift more than fifteen pounds, and try not to get hit in any of those places again. I know you can't really help it, but don't go provoking people. Otherwise, you're free to go."

"And what about Tris?" I ask, hopeful that she'll tell me.

"I can't tell you that," she says with a wink. "But if I could, I'd say that she just has some bruising."

I grin and stand, wincing slightly when I do. "Do you need another dose of pain medicine?" she asks, worried.

"No, I'm just being a baby."

She casts me a wary glance. "Okay. Ice that eye tonight before you go to bed."

"Will do," I say, leaving the office. Al and Tris look over. Tris's hand is wrapped around Al's wrist. They look like kids who just got caught with their hands in the cookie jar. "Sorry for interrupting. I'll just…" I started toward the door awkwardly.

"No, I was just leaving," Al assures me. Tris snatches her hand away from his wrist like she's been burned.

"Okay," I say warily. "Well, Lex says I'm good to go, so once you feel good enough, you should be too, Tris."

"Thank you, Dorothy," she says with a smile, and I'm reminded of how far I am from actually being friends with her. She won't even call me DJ.

"Well, we should be getting to dinner," Al says quickly, making for the door, his hand on the back of his thick neck. "See you… soon."

"Yeah. See you," she replies.

With that, Al and I make our escape. "Seems like you're making some progress on the Tris front?"

Al smiles at the ground. "Not really. I think she wants to wait until after initiation to really do anything, you know. She wants to make sure everything's secure."

I nod. "I get that. Just think how much sweeter it'll be once you two do get together, after the wait," I say with a smile, though I'm not sure I believe it.

"You didn't want to tell her that you stood up to Eric for her," he says. "You could have spun the tale about how you were her savior. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want her to feel guilty about it. I don't want her to think she owes me," I say after a moment. "I would have done the same thing if it had been Peter getting beaten. It had nothing to do with her." Al nods, as though he understands.

We walk silently down to the cafeteria. I'm used to the silence, not usually having anybody to converse with. Al looks like he's not quite so comfortable with it, but I don't know what to say, so I say nothing.

"Don't listen to anything they say to you in here," Al says as we near the cafeteria. I cast him a confused look, craning my neck to look at him. "Rumors travel fast around here. There's already been people trying to come into the infirmary to see you."

I sigh. I'm not one for a lot of attention. "Awesome." I take a deep breath. My ribs protest, and I wince. I square my shoulders despite the pain. "Let's get this over with," I mutter. We step in together.

Some people silence as we enter while others get louder. I'm sure, as I scan the cafeteria quickly, that at least half of the population has their eyes on me. I fight to keep my back straight and chin up, rather than collapsing in on myself as I so desperately want to.

I sit at our usual table, across from Will and Christina. I'm still situated at the very end, but at least Christina and Will have moved so that there are no spots left open. One of the options for dinner tonight is chicken, as well as mashed potatoes. I'm so happy I can almost cry. Almost.

I pile mashed potatoes onto a portion of my plate, then shred most of a chicken breast and mix it up with the potatoes. Just as I'm about to force my mouth open enough to fit my fork in, a large shadow covers my plate.

"So _you_ must be the one who keeps giving Eric shit," the person says, standing behind me. I freeze. I know that voice.

Just in case, I look up with my good eye. My suspicions are confirmed. I'm being confronted by Max himself. "Only as much as he gives us, sir," I reply as respectfully as I can.

He nods. "And will you ever make the mistake of disrespecting him again?" He asks smugly, as if he knows my answer.

 _That smarmy son of a—_ "If he allows another initiate to attack their opponent while they are unable to fight back, yes, sir. I will."

Max pulls up a chair and sits at the end of the table. "And why is that, Miss Jennings?" He looks genuinely curious.

I'm not feeling so serious. I'm not sure I want him to know my reasons. "Maybe I like it," I deadpan. "The pain." He cocks an eyebrow and waits for an honest answer. I break under his stare. "Sir, which is more Dauntless? The leader who preys on the weak youth beneath him…" I look into his eyes for the first time since he arrived. He's surprised. "Or the young girl who didn't back down from a man three times her size?" He stays silent for a moment. "Then why, sir, would I hold respect for a man who feels the need to fracture five of my bones simply because I pointed out something he didn't like?"

A look of understanding crosses his face. "What is it that our manifesto says? We believe in defending those who cannot defend themselves? We do not believe in unnecessary cruelty? As I told him, sir, I respect those who are worthy of it."

"Thank you for telling me the truth," he says, leaning forward. "How very Candor of you."

I shrug, and wince. "I saw no point in lying. I think it was more Dauntless to be truthful. How brave of me would it have been if I'd just rolled over and said 'Oh, no, sir. I'll never disrespect him again'?"

He nods, finally standing up from the table. "Very well. Enjoy your… mush."

As soon as he was out of hearing range, I let out a sigh. "DJ, you're shaking," Al says, wrapping his arm gingerly around my shoulders.

Christina laughs, trying to quell the just-passed nerves. "You really do have a death wish."


	6. How Did You Get Your Pants On?

**Chapter 6: How Did You Get Your Pants On?**

When I awake that morning, I find myself in agony. The pain medicine must have worn off during the night. I feel lucky that I'd remembered to shower last night, not even caring as Christina and Molly showered on either side of me. I'd had too much of my focus on not crying every time I lifted my arms above my shoulders. Christina wound up having to finish washing my hair for me.

I'm lying on my side, with the left side of my face pressed against Al's tee shirt. I don't know how I'm going to get on the train later this morning. All I'm able to do now is flop myself painfully on my back so that my fractured brow bone isn't being laid on.

I'm not able to go back to sleep, so I just lie there until I hear Edward's watch go off across the room. Al stays asleep, so I still just stay there, staring at Molly's now vacant bunk as others get ready. _I need to get up._ I take the deepest breath I can and quickly expel most of the air. Then, I try to sit up on my own. Every inch of my back and right side protest, and pain shoots at my fractured ribs. I fall back to the bed with a sharp cry.

I hear a chuckle from the bed beside me, and I know it's not Christina. "Having some trouble there, Street Rat?" Peter asks.

I erase any trace of pain that shows on my face. "I'm just fine, Hayes." I try to sit up again, but don't even get half way upright before the pain stops me like the last time. "Shit," I mumble under my breath.

Peter sits on the edge of my bed. "Here, let me help," He says in the quietest voice I've ever heard him use. I'm about to ask how when he leans down toward me. He slides his arms under my back, careful to avoid as many of my injuries as he can, and uses his forearms as braces to pull me into a sitting position, then turns me so my feet are on the floor.

"Thank you," I say quietly, as though I'm not sure that really happened. In truth, I'm not. I rise to my feet and grab some clothing out of my drawer. I feel thankful that I got the top one, by some miracle. I don't have to bend down too much to open it. Then comes the task of actually getting dressed. Or undressed.

I fight with getting the clothing off for what seems like ages, and attempt to start the task of putting the new ones on. I'm beginning to regret my decision to change out of my nightclothes at all. I find myself just staring at the black garments. Al is still asleep. It's still early. I'm about to give up and just hide in the dorms forever when a pale hand grabs the tank top that sits on my bed.

I turn to Peter, about to be angry when I see that he's getting ready to put it on me. I let him pull it over my head, then help as he gingerly pulls my arms out of their appropriate openings. Then, he points silently to the bed: a nonverbal command to sit down. I do. He puts both of my legs into my pants and pulls them up to my butt. "I've got it from here," I tell him. He nods and silently turns to his own bunk. I stop to wonder. "Why are you helping me?"

He won't look at me, or even turn toward me, but I catch his almost whispered words. "You wouldn't be like this if I hadn't kept hitting the Stiff after I knew she couldn't fight. It's the least I can do."

As he speaks, I stand to pull my pants the rest of the way up and button them. "No, the least you can do is nothing," I remind him. He turns back to me, irritated. I know that he's about to snap at me for being ungrateful. I cut him off with a kiss to the cheek. "Thank you," I whisper before sitting on my bed to shake Al awake. "Wake up, ya big lump," I say loudly as he begins to stir. "Like you said, we have to be at the tracks at eight fifteen. It's seven forty-five."

He groans, but rolls out of bed, grabs clothes, and heads for the bathroom. I move to wake up Christina. "Where are Drew and Molly?" I ask Peter, who's lacing up his shoes. _Shit._ I'll have to ask Al to put my shoes on me.

"They went ahead to breakfast," he answers, looking up at me through his lashes as he keeps his head down. _So he didn't want them to see him being nice to me._

Christina opens her eyes the moment my hand touches her shoulder. "It's seven forty-five, time to get up." She yawns and sits up. After wiping the sleep from her eyes, she gets up and starts getting ready. Peter finishes and leaves, casting me an unidentifiable glance.

Just as he walks out of the dormitory, Al walks back in from the bathroom freshly shaven and in clean clothes. Even his shoes are already on. "You ready to go?" he asks with a grin. Christina goes into the bathroom.

"Actually, um…" I falter. Well, there's no other way I'm getting this done. "Could you put my shoes on for me? It hurts too much to bend down," I finally finish.

He smiles. "Of course." I sit down on the edge of the bed and he places by black tennis shoes on my feet. Lacing them up, it seems he's realized something. "If you can't bend down, how did you get your pants on?"

I can feel my face getting hot. "I had help from somebody else."

He finishes and looks up at me, mouth in an O shape. He's about to say something when I interrupt. "Come on, let's get to breakfast before it's too late." We're almost out the door when Christina comes out of the restroom. "Hey, can you take care of Tris?" I ask, nodding to her still sleeping form.

"Yeah, you two go ahead. We'll catch up," she assures. We walk out.

Al looks down at me with a playful smile in his eyes. "So who exactly helped you put your clothes on?"

My face gets hot again. "It doesn't matter," I mumble to the ground.

Al smirks at my discomfort, and makes a conscious decision to extend it. "Did this mystery person also help _remove_ your clothes?" He asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"No, that I struggled through myself. He probably felt sorry for me," I say, my face getting hotter.

Al's smirk turns into a grin. "So it was a _boy_ who dressed you?"

"It might have been," I answer meekly, realizing my little pronoun slip.

"Was it Will? I bet it was Will."

I roll my eyes. "You'll have time to make guesses on the train ride to the fence," I say. "For now, let's just eat."

We join Will at the table, and I grab some scrambled eggs from a plate. Eggs are relatively soft, right? "Oatmeal would be better for your jaw," Will says as I do so.

I glare at him and force a bite of eggs into my mouth.

"Thanks for helping DJ get dressed, by the way," Al says with a smile.

Will furrows his brow. "I didn't—" He stops with a smile and looks at me. "Wait, someone helped you get dressed this morning?"

"Ha! So it wasn't Will," Al says triumphantly. I shove large bite into my mouth to avoid answering. "One of the guys helped her get dressed, and I'm trying to figure out who," he tells Will.

"You're sure it's a boy?"

Al nods. "She let a pronoun slip."

Will's eyes hold a knowing look. "That's strange, because the only boys in the room when I left were you and—" I reach across the table and shove a muffin his mouth to silence him.

Al looks like he's thinking. "There was only one other guy in the room when you woke me up, wasn't there?" His eyes light up with realization. " _Peter_ helped you get dressed?" He laughs. "Why would he do that?"

I shrug. "I don't know," I lie. I take a sip from the straw in my cup of water and down the morning's pill.

"Don't you know you shouldn't lie to a Candor?"

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. Let's just get to the tracks," I say, shoveling the last bite of eggs into my mouth. Both Al and Will grab another muffin and we walk to the tracks. With every step, my leg aches and my ribs are jarred. I keep going until we reach the tracks. We're the first initiates there, joined shortly by Myra and Edward, then Peter, Drew and Molly.

"I'll get Christina to hound you. Girls are good at that kind of thing," Al says with a smile. The train's horn sounds, approaching quickly. _Where are Tris and Christina?_ They'll miss the train if they're not here within thirty seconds. I focus my attention on the coming train, working up the courage to jump on once it comes.

"What took you so long?" I hear Will yell over the horn. They must have caught up with us.

"Stumpy Legs over here turned into an old lady over night," Christina shouts back.

"Oh, shut up," Tris retaliates. I'm not sure if it's a joke or not.

Four steps back to let some people on before him. I won't be able to pull myself into the car. I know I won't. I need to time it just right so that I can jump in rather than using the handle next to the door.

The train is going slow so as to let us on. I assume it does that every time it passes. I watch two cars pass, trying to figure it out, then on the third one, I run. My body collides with the car floor hard.

I made it, and it was just as painful as I expected it to be. I don't get up; just lie there with my forehead resting in the floor while others pull themselves in. The shaking of the train makes my head ache after a minute, so I finally roll over and force myself to sit up using the wall.

"Felling okay there?" I hear Peter ask. "Or are you a little… _Stiff?_ " Peter and his crew burst into laughter. Peter has a nice laugh. I chuckle, but none of the others seem to be amused. It might have been a little callous, but I remember Will making fun of Christina after he beat her, and everybody was just fine with it. It seems they can hold a grudge. But what did they do in the first place? Aside from being brutal in fights, and a little bit of teasing, I don't think they've done anything.

"We are all awed by your incredible wit," Will says sarcastically.

"Yeah, are you sure you don't belong in Erudite, Peter?" Christina adds. "I hear they don't object to sissies."

I roll my eyes, and prepare for Peter's retort, but it never comes. Instead, Four looks to us. "Am I going to have to listen to your bickering all the way to the fence?" He asks, irritated.

"Probably," I deadpan. "Have you met these people?"

Four smirks and turns back to the opening. He holds onto the handles next to the car and leans his body out. _Dauntless,_ I think. Outside, I see crumbling buildings. It reminds me a little bit of home. My old home.

"What do you think is out there?" I hear Tris ask. "I mean, beyond the fence."

"A bunch of farms, I guess," she replies simply.

"Yeah, but I mean… past the farms. What are we guarding the city from?" I've always wondered that myself. They say that it's all the same, crumbling buildings like the worst parts of the city, like what I'm used to. I remember wanting to leave the city altogether when I was twelve.

Christina wiggles her fingers. "Monsters," she replies sarcastically.

"We didn't even have guards near the fence four years ago," Will reports. "Don't you remember when Dauntless police used to patrol the factionless sector?"

I do. I remember it like it was yesterday. The rest of them continue to talk about it, but I can't hear them over my own thoughts. I remember all the bruises I saw. I remember people walking around in slings from beatings they got. I remember making splints for broken bones, and finding bodies in the streets at least once a month, and being afraid to look at anything other than the ground.

One memory creeps back up into my mind: the day I was attacked and my mother had saved me. I remember the guard taking out a nightstick and beating my mom almost to death. I remember him smirking at me and telling me "Next time, take your beatings for yourself." I remember treating mom's wounds the best I could, and setting the bone in her leg. I can still hear the loud crack and her scream now. I threw up when I did that back then.

"Are you okay, DJ?" Al's voice snaps me out of my mind. I quickly shake my head.

I jump up as best I can, lurching toward Four and the opening. I grab the back of Four's shirt and pull him back. He looks at me, surprised, until I force my head out of the door and vomit. Apparently I'll throw up at the memory, as well. I feel a hand rubbing at my back. I wretch again and again, until my stomach is empty.

"Feel better?" Al asks, his hand still on the small of my back as I pull back into the train car.

I turn directly to our group. "Could we maybe not talk about when the Dauntless guards patrolled factionless?" I ask weakly.

Will opens and closes his mouth like a fish, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"The guards they assigned to the factionless sector were low-ranking and cruel. They were itching for people weaker than them to make them feel strong again. Their presence was _not_ a good thing," I interrupt. "I don't particularly care _what_ they're guarding us from, just that they're not there to terrorize the factionless anymore."

"Sorry," Will says, looking down at the ground. The train's brakes squeal, and the train lurches. I stumble into Peter, who grabs my shoulders, steadying me before lightly pushing me away from him. The train screeches to a halt under an awning. Several people hop out. When I go to the edge, Al grabs my hips and slowly lowers me to the ground. I shoot him a thankful smile.

As far as eye can see, the fence stretches on. It wraps around the entire city. Mom and I spent a week walking the whole thing, just because we wanted to get away from everything. I smile at the happier memory.

On the other side of the fence are several guards. My insides go cold. _Stop. You're one of them now. They're not going to treat you like they did when you were factionless,_ I remind myself.

"Follow me," Four commands. I'm reluctant. I don't want to be any closer to them than I have to. Still, I follow at the back of the pack. The gate is just wide enough to accommodate one of their transport trucks. I know because I've been there while they loaded the trains.

"If you don't rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you will probably end up here," Four shouts as we reach the gate finally. "Once you are a fence guard, there is some potential for advancement, but not much. You may be able to go on patrols past Amity's farms, but—"

"Patrols for what purpose?" Will interrupts.

Four shrugs with only one shoulder. "I suppose you'll discover that if you find yourself among them," he quips. "As I was saying. For the most part, those who guard the fence when they are young continue to guard the fence. If it comforts you, some of them insist that it isn't as bad as it seems."

Christina makes a snide comment in Tris's ear.

"What rank were you?" Peter asks Four.

I've been wondering that as well. "I was first," Four answers levelly.

"And you chose to do _this_?" Peter asks, green eyes wide. "Why didn't you get a government job?"

"I didn't want one," he deadpans.

"Why?" I ask without thinking. "You'd be better at it than Eric. More respectable."

He grins but doesn't offer a reply. He just turns to the gate as several guards pull it open. A truck rolls up to the wide opening and stops just inside. The driver, a bearded man with a wide smile, gets out of the truck. In the back of the truck are a few Amity members and crates filled with apples.

"Beatrice?" one of them asks, looking remarkably surprised. _Who is Beatrice?_ Tris's head snaps toward the boy. I guess Tris was Beatrice.

The boy jumps down from the truck bed and wraps her in a hug. She stiffens until he releases her. His smile falls as he looks at her. "Beatrice, what happened to you? What happened to your face?"

"Nothing, just training. Nothing," she says, brushing off his concern.

" _Beatrice_?" comes Molly's nasally voice. "Is that your real name, Stiff?"

"What did you _think_ Tris was short for?" She asks sarcastically.

"Oh, I don't know… weakling?" She taps on her chin with mock contemplation on her face. "Oh wait, _that_ doesn't start with Tris. My mistake."

The boy looks at her softly. "There's no need to antagonize her," he says, but I think it might have been covered up.

"Molly, how 'bout you shut the fuck up?" I snap.

"Excuse me?" she asks, advancing on me.

"You heard me." She stands close to me, our toes touching. She stands a few inches taller than me, and is trying to use it as an intimidation technique. It doesn't come close to working. "I got my ass kicked by a _leader_ yesterday defending her," I remind her, raising slightly on my tiptoes to spit the words into her face. "You think I'm afraid of you? You think you _scare_ me? Let's not forget the fact that I beat your little friend _with_ five fractured bones. You think I won't do the same to you? Think again."

"You're bluffing," she says with a smirk.

"You think I'm bluffing? Care to test that theory?" I ignore the pain and ram my chest into hers. "You wanna fuckin' _try_ _it_?"

"Both of you, _stop,_ " Four shouts before she can respond. I stop speaking, but neither of us steps away. We just stare into each other's eyes, daring the other to act. Four grabs one of each of our shoulders and pulls us apart. "Did you two not hear me? _Stop._ "

I'm the first to look away. "Sorry, sir." I walk as far from her as I can without being yelled at. Tris and Robert talk again in hushed tones. I can't hear anything they say, and I find that I don't actually care. I watch as they converse. Then, the boy says one last thing and goes back to the truck. The guards usher it through. Four strides up to Tris and they start talking. I assume this time that she's being scolded for fraternizing with another faction.

The train horn sounds suddenly, and Four comes over to me. "I want you in a car with me. Alone. I need to talk to you," he says seriously. I only nod.

I jog over to Al. "Hey, I'll catch you guys back at the compound, Four wants to talk to me on the way back."

He nods. "Good luck."

We board the train, Four and I in the front car, everybody else in the second. The train starts moving again, and Four turns to me. "We've got about an hour before we get back to the compound. Plenty of time to have a heart to heart," he says, lips pursed slightly. I sink to the ground, my back pressed against the wall. We certainly do have time.

"Go ahead," I say, bracing myself for the scolding I'm about to get.

He sighs. "I'm not going to yell at you. I just want to talk. I expect truthful answers, understand?" I nod. "First thing I want to talk about is what just happened. I've come to expect that sort of thing from Molly and her friends. You… I expected more from you." My eyes shoot up to his, a familiar deep blue. _What?_ "I'm very disappointed."

That was not what I expected. I look down at my hands, ashamed. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm not the person you though I was." He sits next to me.

"No, I think you are. I think that you were just trying to stop the conflict. You were bluffing, weren't you?"

I desperately don't want to answer. "So was she," I blurt out. "Neither of us was going to take the first swing. I could see it in her eyes."

"But you were bluffing."

"It took everything I had not to cry with that chest bump," I reply with a dark chuckle.

"I trust you won't do it again?"

"I'm not making any promises," I answer truthfully. "I'll try to avoid it if I can."

He nods. "That's all I can ask for, I guess. This brings us to the next thing I want to talk to you about: Why are you so protective over Tris?"

"I'm not."

"Really? Because yesterday, you got beat for protecting her, and today, you almost got in another fight doing the same thing."

"Today was just because Molly needed to get knocked down a few pegs. She was being a bitch. I'm not even sure I _like_ Tris. I would have stopped that fight even if it was Peter getting beat after he couldn't fight back."

"Why?"

"We believe in shouting for those who can only whisper, in defending those who cannot defend themselves," I quote from the manifesto. "Preying on the weak is never okay. Plus, I'm the mom friend. It's in my nature."

"Which brings us to the third question: why exactly are you so keen on helping people?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

He raises his eyebrows. "We both know that's not quite true."

I swallow hard. _Quick, think of something that sounds Dauntless_. "I guess I figure that if I'm there for enough people, at least some of them will be there when I need it."

"How's that working for you so far?"

"Honestly, pretty well," I realize. "I couldn't even dress myself this morning."

"Was it Al or Tris that helped you?"

"Helping isn't the only way to be there for someone," I inform him. "Sometimes, it's just talking to them to reassure them that they aren't hated by _everyone._ "

He raises his eyebrows again. "Who?"

I refuse to meet his gaze this time. "Peter got me dressed. Al put on my shoes," I mutter.

"You have a knack for making the most unusual friends, Dorothy."

"DJ," I correct. "I go by DJ now. The only ones who still call me Dorothy are Eric and Tris."

We're silent for a minute, thinking. He must have thought of something else he wants to talk about. "You said you're not sure you like Tris. Why is that?"

I shrug, getting used to the pain of the familiar motion. "I don't dislike her, I mean I got my ass kicked defending her, but I don't think I actually like her. She seems petty and unfocused. She has no talent in fighting, obviously. She's not especially kind, either. Or supportive. And she's leading Al on, rather than letting him know that she's not interested. I can tell she's not. I think she's manipulative, but weak-willed. And I think she'll become a martyr if anything happens to her because she uses those things to win people over instead of using them to improve."

"Is it so bad of her to win people over?" he asks smugly.

I pick at my fingernails. "She's likable. If… if someone—" I stop, transferring my gaze to the opening. "Y'know what? It doesn't even matter." His deep blue eyes meet mine and I silently beg him—I'm not sure for what.

"Okay," is all he says. He must have known what I was asking better than I do. He doesn't break eye contact, almost as if he's expecting me to say something despite his agreement to drop the subject. Suddenly, I know exactly why those eyes seem so familiar. _Marcus Eaton._

"Your mother asked me to speak to you," I tell him softly.

His shoulders sag, his eyes finally breaking from mine and looking down at the car floor. "How did you figure it out?"

"You have your father's eyes," I explain. "She told me to ask you to meet her." He doesn't speak. "I told her to fuck off." His eyes widen and his brows furrow. "I told her that she made the decision to walk out of your life, she doesn't deserve to walk back in, and you don't deserve to deal with that," I blabber. "Y'know, I'd never even met you, but I wanted her to know that what she was doing wasn't okay. Cause it's not." I look up into the eyes that gave him away. "I don't think you should meet with her."

He doesn't say a word after that, not even as we finally get back to the compound.


	7. You Talk Too Much

**A/N: I still don't own anything**

 **Chapter 7: You Talk Too Much**

"Everybody up!" I shoot up, pain wracking my body. At the door of the room are Four and Eric, surrounded by several Dauntless members, most of whom I've never seen before. I flop back down onto the mattress, finding that Al has already gotten up and started dressing.

"Did you go deaf, Street Rat?" Eric demands loudly. "What about you, Stiff?" Christina crosses her arms over her chest, standing closer to Tris's bed than mine.

I force myself to sit back up painfully. "You have five minutes to get dressed and meet us up by the tracks," he shouts, seeing that we're beginning to move. "We're going on another field trip."

I'm silently thankful that I had been too exhausted when I went to bed to change out of my workout clothes. All I have to do is throw my shoes on, grab my jacket, and run out of the room. We arrive there just behind the Dauntless-born initiates, each panting and some of us still half asleep. Sitting next to the tracks is a pile of— _are those guns_? Next to the guns are boxes labeled "PAINTBALLS."

"Are we going to _shoot_ something?" Christina asks quietly, as if nobody but Tris can hear.

"Are there guns there?" I ask in return. She glares. "And they're just paintballs."

"Everyone grab a gun," Eric bellows. We do. I'm the third to grab one, shoving a box of paintballs into the pocket of my jacket as I face the tracks again. The gun is heavy, but the design is less substantial than that of a normal gun. Instead of having a clip underneath it, the paintball gun has a hollow bean-shaped container on the top.

Four and Eric bicker as I examine the weapon in my hands. Finally, the telltale horn of the train sounds and we all race to get into one car. Four helps us on one by one—I'm guessing we don't have any time to waste. I feel lucky that Eric was designated as the last one on, as that means he can't see me wheeze and grab my side after Four pulls me in.

Once everybody is in, Four addresses the group. "We'll be dividing into two teams to play capture the flag," he explains. "Each team will have an even mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. One team will get off first and find a place to hide their flag. Then the second team will do the same." The train car sways, and all of us grab onto the closest thing to keep our balance. "This is dauntless tradition, so I suggest you take it seriously."

"What do we get if we win?" Molly shouts. What does it matter what we get if we win? Are you going to not try as hard if there's no reward?

"Sounds like the kind of question someone not from Dauntless would ask," Four quips, brow rising. "You get to win, of course."

"Four and I will be your team captains," Eric says with a wide grin. My stomach tightens. "Let's divide up the transfers, shall we?"

"You go first," Four says and my heart almost stops. _What the hell are you doing, Four?_

Eric just shrugs. "Edward." Damn. Edward's number one in rankings. I don't need to see the rankings to know that.

Four's eyes scan the transfers. "I want the Stiff."

A few people laugh as she goes to his side of the car.

"Got something to prove?" Eric asks with that little smirk that makes me want to rip his lip rings out. "Or are you just picking the weak ones so that if you lose, you'll have someone to blame it on?"

"Something like that," Four says with a shrug. "Your turn."

"Peter."

"Christina."

"Molly."

"Will."

"Al." _So long, old friend._

"Drew."

I'm amongst the last? I thought that maybe somebody would actually want me on their team, despite the injuries. Eric huffs. Will he choose me or will he decide that his hatred of me is more than his battle strategy?

"Myra." I guess it was the second one.

"Last one left is DJ, so she's with me," says Four, sounding almost defeated. Had he been trying to get Eric to pick me? "Dauntless-born initiates next."

I watch as Four chooses between the other half of the initiates. I remember some of them from jumping off into the compound. I recognize Four's strategy halfway through them. Eric's team in general is well-muscled and broad-shouldered, while Four's team is slim with small frames. This is a battle strategy. We're going to be faster and quieter, more able to sneak amongst their team, while Eric's strategy is simply brute force.

There's a difference between Four and Eric: Eric chose people, but Four chose a _team_. As soon as they're done dividing up the crowd, Eric smirks. "You can get off second," he says with humor in his voice.

"Don't do me any favors," Four replies with a slight smile. "You know I don't need them to win."

"No, I know that you'll lose no matter when you get off," Eric says, pulling one of his lip rings between his teeth. "Take your scrawny team and get off first, then."

We stand. I notice Al give Tris a look I can't place. He doesn't spare a glance at me. _So much for best friends_.

As the train dips closer to the ground, I jump, trying to run for a few steps to keep my balance. It doesn't work. The impact that my legs make with the ground jars my ribs and white dances across my vision as I fall to my knees. As quickly as I can, I force myself back up.

One of the Dauntless-borns—Marlene, maybe—touches Four's shoulder. "When your team won, where did you put the flag?"

"Telling you wouldn't really be in the spirit of the exercise, Marlene," he replies.

"Come on, Four," she whines with a flirtatious smile. He brushes her off.

"Looks like you can't flirt your way out of everything," I retort. She glares at me.

"Navy Pier," another Dauntless-born shouts out. The boy is tall, with flawless brown skin and the whitest teeth I've ever seen. I think his name might have been Uriah. "My brother was on the winning team. They kept the flag at the carousel."

"Well we know where we're not hiding it, then," I say definitively.

"Why not? I think hiding it there would be a good idea," Will says furrowing his brow.

"They've already hidden it there. It's way to obvious," I remind him. "It's the first place Eric'll look."

"No, it's hiding it in plain sight. They've already put it there, so he will assume that we won't hide it there again."

"Do you really think Eric's that smart?"

"Yes, I do. Did you see his team? They're built for defense. They will wait for us to come to them." Will turns to another initiate, Uriah again. "What do you think?"

I think you're right," he says, making eye contact with Will. "All in favor of going to Navy Pier?" He asks the masses. Most of them raise their hands. "Then it's settled. Navy Pier it is."

We begin our trek east, toward the marsh that I got stuck in once when I was seven. They say that it was once a lake, but all the water that remained was used to make the thickest mud I've ever seen.

"We're close to Erudite headquarters, right?" Christina asks, bumping into Will. We are close. Navy Pier, when not being used as a playground for the Dauntless, is often inhabited by Factionless. I know the way there like the back of my hand.

"Yeah, it's south of here," Will replies. He looks south, his gaze full of longing. Then, he turns his head forward again and the look leaves.

Across the bridge that stretches over a part of the marsh, things get even more familiar. The old, crumbling buildings sit unused for the moment. Dauntless always clears this part of the city for the games. Broken glass litters the street.

Suddenly, more light is shed on the glittering shards. I look back; Marlene has a flashlight on.

"Scared of the dark, Mar?" Uriah teases.

"If you want to step on broken glass, Uriah, be my guest," She snaps, but turns the light off anyway.

"Unless you've got holes in the bottoms of your shoes, the glass probably won't get through them," I assure her before turning back to watch the path ahead. We're almost there. Not fifty yards ahead, the buildings stop and the pier begins, jutting out into the marsh like a viewing platform for something that isn't there anymore.

"Think about it. People used to ride that thing. For _fun,_ " Will says, disbelieving. I smile, reminiscing.

"They must have been Dauntless," Tris agrees in awe. My smile turns into a grin.

"Yeah, but a lame version of Dauntless," Christina laughs. "A Dauntless Ferris wheel wouldn't have cars. You would just hang on tight with your hands, and good luck to you."

"It still works," I interject. They turn to me. "The Ferris wheel. One time I came here with my mom and a few other factionless, just to explore, and I accidentally hit the button. It still moves."

"But did you _ride_ it?" Will asks.

I shake my head. "Mom wouldn't let me. She said that just because the mechanisms still worked, didn't mean that the structure would hold any extra weight in the cars."

We continue to walk to our destination, Will and Christina flirting the whole time. Finally, we reach the carousel, a round house without walls and several weathered, broken horses.

"In ten minutes," Four says, taking the flag out of his pocket, "the other team will pick their location. I suggest you take this time to formulate a strategy. We may not be Erudite, but mental preparedness is one aspect of your Dauntless training. Arguably, it is the most important aspect."

Will grabs the flag. "Some people should stay here and guard, and some people should go out and scout the other team's location," he says.

"Yeah? You think?" Marlene asks, snatching the flag from Will. "Who put you in charge, transfer?"

"No one," Will replies. "But someone's got to do it."

"Maybe we should develop a more defensive strategy. Wait for them to come to us, take us out."

"That's the sissy way out," Uriah interjects. "I vote we go all out. Hide the flag well enough that they can't find it."

"No," I shout over the shouting that had just begun. "Either of those are what Eric's team is built to do. We can't just blitz 'em _or_ wait for them to come to us. We're built for stealth. We have to use the lay of the land to our advantage if we wanna win."

"Then what do _you_ propose we do, Street Rat?"

I glare at Marlene. "I know this area. I grew up around here. There's a tall building right at the beginning of the pier. I'll go up to the roof of that, alone if need be, and see if I can find them. Then, we separate. The best shots stay here and protect our flag. The rest divide into two teams and we attack their defenses from either side."

"So who's on each team?" Uriah asks. I beam, realizing that the rest are willing to follow me.

"You guys divide that while I scout," I tell him. "Alright. Anybody volunteer to go with me?" I ask to the masses. Nobody steps forward. "Okay. I'm gonna go and get back as soon as I can."

With that, I sprint back toward the entrance to the pier, up the stairs of the tallest building on the outskirts, and onto the roof. Panting, I scan the area that we're allowed to work in, starting closest to the train tracks then branching out. A pulsing light catches my eye, by the park at the end of the pier. I know without a doubt that it's them.

I take a last deep breath, brace myself for the pain of running again, and sprint back to the carousel. The rest are still waiting for me.

"Park at the end of the pier," I pant out, bending in half to get my breath back. "That's where they are. Trees to provide coverage, but out in the open."

"You should stay with the defense team," Will tells me, placing his hand on my back.

"No, I can go. I'm the one who knows this place."

"Then tell us how to get around. If you go with us, we will just take more time letting you catch your breath. You're the best shot other than Edward. They need you here."

I nod. "Okay. Here's what you need to do," I start, straightening up. "They're surrounded by trees. I don't know how far into them they are. The two teams go wide around them, then close in. Don't let them know you're there. Be as silent as you possibly can. Got it?"

Will and Marlene nod. They must be the designated attack team captains. "We've got it," Marlene replies.

"Good. No time to waste. Get going." They do, motioning to their respective teams to make their way to the other team's flag.

I slowly move into the carousel, perching myself on one of the horses as my ribs throb. There are six of us on the defense team: Christina, Uriah, two Dauntless-born initiates, one member, and myself. "That was a good plan, kid." The Dauntless member with us says. "I'm Shauna."

"DJ," I reply simply, still slightly out of breath. I clutch at my ribs with one hand and grab onto the bar of my horse with the other. "Thanks."

Suddenly a loud mechanic noise sounds to our side, and our head snap toward the offending noise. The Ferris wheel is _moving_. "Who the fuck did that?" Shauna asks from beside me, outraged.

"Doesn't really matter who, does it?" I ask. "It happened. Now we just need to deal with whatever it brings."

She purses her lips, but returns back to her horse. I take the opportunity to finally steady my breathing. Four's voice gets my attention after a few minutes. "Where'd the others go?"

"Where the hell did _you_ go?" I ask in return.

"Did you guys turn on the Ferris wheel?" Shauna demands before he can reply. "What the hell were you thinking? You might as well have shouted 'Here we are! Come and get us!' If I lose this year, the shame will be unbearable. Three years in a row?"

"The wheel doesn't matter," Four says levelly. "We know where they are."

"So do we," I say defensively. "While you two got lost in some dark corner somewhere, I got to the top of that building and back."

Tris looks down. "We just climbed the Ferris wheel to dins out where they are."

I give a falsely sympathetic smile. "Think smarter, not harder, sweetheart." I turn to Four. "The others left in the attack teams."

"We're leaving, too." Tris says from beside him. I hadn't even noticed her there.

"Well, that's dumb. We're just going to leave our flag unprotected…out in the open…in the same place you had it last year? That's a terrible idea."

"You don't have to come," Tris tells me, then turns to the rest of them. "We split in half. Four of us go to the right side of the pier, three to the left, since apparently Dorothy isn't coming. Eric's team is—"

"We know where Eric's team is," I remind her.

She just glares at me. "The group of four will charge as the group of three sneaks behind the other team to get the flag," she finishes as if I didn't say anything.

"Sounds good, Shauna says, clapping her hands together. "Let's get this night over with, shall we?" They all get into separate groups and run off, leaving me alone in the darkness.

I'm not sure how long I sat there alone, muttering soft complaints to myself. "Sure, leave the flag undefended. They won't come while we're gone. Not after we rang the goddamn dinner bell with the Ferris wheel."

A soft crunch of glass beneath someone's boot echoes from somewhere beside the carousel. I silence my complaints and ready myself to shoot, scanning in the direction that it came from. There's another crunch from the same direction. "Well, well, what do we have here? A little Street Rat, all by her lonesome." _Eric._

Eric found us—me. I'm the only one here now. I'm the only thing standing between him and our flag. "Are you the only line of defense?" I still can't _see_ him, and if I can't see him, I can't shoot him. The real question is, why hasn't _he_ shot _me_? Obviously he can tell where I am. Maybe he's just toying with me. Or maybe he's already wasted all of his paintballs.

Or maybe, just maybe, he can't see me. Maybe he just saw who left to get his team, and counted on me having stayed here. I stay silent.

"DJ?" he calls in a singsong voice, sounding mocking. Finally, he steps out of the shadows. I don't miss a beat, and his chest splatters with neon pink paint. He looks down at it, dismayed, before throwing his gun to the ground. "Son of a bitch!"

"You talk too much," I say with a smirk.

"I don't think anyone's ever told me that before," He sneers.

"There's a first time for everything, right?"

A certain look glints in his eye. "How are your injuries?"

He's trying to remind me that he can beat me. A Dauntless wouldn't let that stop them. "Healing. How about your wounded ego?" I counter. "Can't imagine it's doing too good, considering you just lost."

"And what makes you so certain that your team _won_?"

"Their strategy was spot-on. They'll get it."

He opens his mouth to argue with that when Uriah comes sprinting up from the start of the pier. "We got it!" He yells as he gets close. "We won!" The moment he's close enough, he wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me off the ground. Pain shoots through my ribs and I almost cry out. Instead, I find myself shooting a victorious grin at Eric, whose lips are set so hard into a line that the only proof that they existed are the four rings looped around them.

Finally, Uriah lowers me to the ground and starts running toward the train tracks hooping and hollering. I keep my grin on as I turn to Eric. Unfortunately, the defeated irritation has faded, and he just smirks at me. "How does it feel to have your team win without you?"

My grin drops. "What?"

"You're the only one who didn't get to see the action. They won without you. And your little friends just… sent someone else to collect you. Must feel pretty shitty, knowing that they don't even _care_."

Is that true? Did I do nothing to help my team win, despite my attempts at formulating a battle strategy? Was I the one person who didn't have _any_ hand in it? They all seem perfectly content to leave me here in the clutches of Eric.

The smirk widens to a predatory grin as he sees my face falling. Apparently seeing my misery outweighs the fact that he just lost the game. I turn on my heel and stride the way Uriah had gone, toward the start of the pier. I keep my eyes ahead, not daring to look back at Eric, who I can hear walking just a few feet behind me.

"I can't believe I missed it!" Will says, hair blowing every direction.

"Where the fuck did you even go?" I snap. "I told you exactly where they were."

He looks down, his face turning red. "I got lost." I scoff.

"We won. Isn't that all that matters?" Christina jumps in to defend him. "Why are you so being sour about this?"

I glare at her. "I guess that's what facing Eric down alone because your team abandoned you does."

"At least they were on your team," Al reminds me. "Why did I have to be on the other team?"

Will smiles, having recovered from my scolding. "Because life's not fair, Albert. And the world is conspiring against you." He says, clapping Al on the shoulder. "Hey, can I see the flag again?"

I watch as Uriah and Marlene approach our little group and begin to joke and laugh. They splatter paintballs at each other and laugh loudly, carefree. As I watch, I realize something; something that's become abundantly clear. It doesn't matter if I make it through. I'll always be the outsider. Even Al seems to forget that I'm sitting by them as he becomes immersed in the conversation.

I scoot further away from them, not wanting to interrupt. My Eric-induced foul mood would do nothing but bring them down.

Peter glances my way, realizing how far I seem from our win.

"I'm pretty sure that's your team with the flag over there," he says, just loud enough for me and his little group to hear. I nod halfheartedly. "Then why does it look like you're the one who lost?" I cross my arms over my chest and stare out of the opening in the car, ignoring him. Ignoring everyone.

Until we make it back to the compound, at which time I collapse softly onto the bed as to not jostle my ribs and fall asleep almost immediately.


	8. I'm Out

**A/N: I don't own anything still.**

 **Chapter 8: I'm Out**

Today, with only minor help from Al getting dressed, I'm one of the first in the training room. On one wall are targets, and standing straight in the center is the devil himself. Eric. By the look on his face, whatever comfort my misery provided has left, and all that remains is bitterness over his loss.

When the last of the initiates trickle in, yawning, Eric starts the lesson. "Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," he says loudly. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you will learn how to aim. Everyone grab three knives and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them." Why isn't Eric teaching? It could gain him some respect, proving that he could do something other than hand to hand. A slight smile graces my face as I realize that _can't_ do this. Not as well as four can, anyway.

Nobody moves a muscle until Eric bellows, "Now!" We all scramble forward to grab three of the daggers, not feeling up to testing him while he's in this bad of a mood.

Four throws his first knife. I stop to examine the knives in my hand. I know how to do this. I've done it probably hundreds of times. Knives were one thing the Factionless never lacked.

"Line up!" Eric barks.

We all get to our targets. I line myself up and throw my knife. It hits the edge of the target handle first.

"I expected more from someone who obviously knew enough to not pay attention to Four," Eric snarls behind me.

"The balance is different that what I'm used to," I mumble. Before he can say another word, I let another knife fly. It sticks into the neck of my target. He moves on, pacing quickly.

"I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head," Peter remarks from beside me. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a _knife_ is?"

Sure enough, Tris is practicing technique without actually having thrown a knife yet. She practices a few more times before letting her knife fly. The blade hits the target, but the throw is too weak for it to stick. She's the first one other than me to do that all day.

Peter throws again and misses. "Hey, Peter," Tris mimics. "Remember what a _target_ is?"

Several initiates snort with laughter. I struggle to contain a smile. I don't want to make an enemy out of Peter, not after I've made some headway with the whole changing episode a few days ago.

"Flick your wrist a little more, exhale when you release, and follow through with your arm. Don't just pull your arm back immediately. You need to make a sort of circle with your shoulder," I advise.

He huffs, but out of the corner of my eye I see him do as I suggested on his next throw. The knife blade sticks precariously in the target and Peter grins proudly.

Within half an hour, the only one of us who hasn't hit the target is Al.

"Loosen up your wrist, man," I tell him as we grab our knives and he picks his up off the floor. "Release sooner," I add, going back to my spot and waiting for him to get back before throwing again. I watch Al discreetly as I do so. He throws again, this time trying to follow my advice. It still bounces off the wood of the target, but he was much closer than before.

"Good. Now re—"

"How slow are you, Candor?" Eric asks, stomping up. "Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

Al's face turns red and I glare up at the greasy-haired leader. Al throws again. This one hits the wood two feet to the right of the target. I wince.

"What was that, initiate?" Eric asks calmly, leaning too close to Al's face.

"It—it slipped," Al says, looking as small as a man his size could.

"Well, I think you should go get it," he commands, looking to the other initiates. All of them have stopped throwing. "Did I tell you to stop?" He asks. Knives start to hit targets again. Nobody dares to test Eric today. Nobody except me.

"Did I tell you to stop throwing, initiate?" Eric asks, turning to me.

I shrug and throw my last two knives in quick succession. I raise my hands to the sky. "I'm out."

"Go get them, then," he sneers. "Both of you."

I turn to go, but Al stays planted right where he is. "Go get them?" He asks, eyes wide. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit."

"I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you," Eric condescends. "Go get your knives."

I glance over at Peter, who throws straight, hitting the target every time now, before starting the way to the target. I get almost all the way there before I hear Al say "No."

I turn around, not moving from my spot. "Why not? Are you afraid?"

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" Al says. "Yes, I am."

"That doesn't seem to be a problem for your friend down there," Eric says, nodding in my direction. Al just crosses his arms over his barreled chest. "Everyone stop!"

Everyone stops throwing. I take the momentary lapse in action to grab my knives out of the target. "Clear out of the ring." I start to do so. "Except you two," He says, alternating his gaze from Al to me.

"Stand in front of your targets." Hands shaking, Al does as he's instructed, moving to stand next to me.

"Hey, Four." Eric yells over his shoulder. "Give me a hand here, huh?"

"You two are going to stand there as Four and I throw these knives," he says, picking up as set of his own as Four casually makes his way over. "Until he learns not to flinch."

Eric stands just in front of me. Four, in front of Al. My hands shake as I remember my previous realization: I got the worse knife thrower.

"Is this really necessary?" I hear Four ask. It's a challenge if I've ever heard one. Eric just glares at him.

"I have the authority here, remember?" Eric reminds him, so quietly that I only make out the words by reading his lips. "Here, and everywhere else."

Four's face turns red, but he just turns to face Al. Eric does the same. Both raise their hands to let their knives fly, but stop just before they do. " _Stop_ it."

Was that Tris?

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target," Tris says. I hold a newfound respect for her, standing against what she thinks is wrong. "It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of _cowardice._ "

"Then it should be easy for you to take Al's place," Eric smirks. I'm not getting out of this one. He hates me too much for that. I fully expect her to back down. I wouldn't blame her. But she weaves her way through the initiates who are gathered around Four and Eric and takes Al's place in front of the target. In my eyes, she's gained respect. Maybe I was wrong about her.

"If you flinch, Al takes your place. Understand?" Four asks carefully. Is he really egging her on? I don't look to her to see her response. Instead, I stare straight ahead at Eric, blocking out all outside distraction.

Both men raise their arms and throw. It's just a flash, and the knife sticks in the wood an inch from my hand. By the look in his eye, I can tell that it isn't the closest he'll get.

He lets the next one fly. A lock of red hair falls to the ground, the knife imbedding itself just next to my head, almost touching.

I glare, but don't even blink. As the third knife leaves his fingertips, I see something in his eyes. _This isn't good._

At first, I don't feel the pain. It's just a little prick. Everything freezes, and several other initiates' jaws drop. I need to know if what I think is true, is. I move my hand toward where I felt the prick. My jaw drops. It's there. Eric's third knife is sunk two inches deep in the outside of my thigh. My fingers come away bloody. My breath catches in my throat as my mind slowly processes what just happened.

There is a knife stuck in my leg. There is a _knife_ stuck in my leg. There is a knife _stuck_ in my leg. There is a knife stuck in my _leg_. _Eric fucking stabbed me._

Then the pain hits me. I hear a squeak. It sounds near. _Was that me?_ It had to be. Who else would have done it? "You just—" I don't finish. Instead, everything goes black, and I fall to the ground.

When I wake up, I'm in the infirmary again, just Lex in the little med bay. "That son of a bitch," I slur before I even open my eyes.

"Hey, girl. How are you feeling?"

"Fucking _pissed_ ," I growl.

"Hey, it's bett—"

"Is it normal to treat initiates like that? Just fucking throw knives at them?" I interrupt, boiling over with rage.

She ignores my outburst. "The knife didn't hit anything important. You just fainted because you went into shock. With the salve I put on the wound, it should heal up by visiting day."

"Thanks," I grumble, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "With final fights tomorrow, will I be good to go?"

She thinks for a moment. "You should be. Most of the healing will happen tonight while you sleep."

"Great," I mutter, forcing my leg to take all of my weight.

"Hopefully I won't see you any time soon," she calls after me as I leave.

I find myself back in the training room, crossing to the punching bags. I need to get out some aggression. I attack the closest one viciously, my fists, elbows, knees, and feet slamming into it with a force I never had before this training.

By the time that I'm panting and drenched with sweat, none of the aggression is gone. In fact, it might have been amplified by the assault. I'm fairly sure I missed dinner in my rage. _What do I do now_?

A shower might do me some good, I decide. And now I need it. My hair sticks to my face with sweat. When I get to the bathroom, the entire thing is empty. Good. One less thing to worry about.

Unfortunately, not even the hot water soothes my growing rage. I just find myself thinking about it more, and getting angrier. When I finally decide that nothing is going to change that, I trudge into the dormitory dressed in just my towel. My clothes were still sticky with sweat.

"There's our little Honey Badger!" Al announces as I enter, going over to my drawer to get clothes. This time, I change into them by myself. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"As good as I can, considering I just got stabbed, Al," I reply. "Thanks for carrying my ass to the infirmary after I passed out. The nurse said it was the shock."

Al grins. "I didn't carry you up." I stare blankly at him.

"What?"

His grin grows wider. "I went to grab you, but someone beat me to it."

"Who the fuck carried me, then?"

He winks. "I'll give you one guess." Who was close and fast enough to grab me? Certainly not Tris, she couldn't hold up my body weight. Probably not Will, he was closer to the back. Edward wouldn't care. We're not particularly close. That leaves… My eyes flicker over to Peter. Al sees where my eyes drift. He nods.

" _Peter_ carried me up there?" I whisper.

He nods again. "Seems like he's taken a liking to you," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, please. It was probably just reflex," I tell him, lying down on my cot.

"Whatever you say, DJ," he says, lying next to me and pulling me close to him. "Whatever you say." Yeah. I'm not so convinced, either.


	9. Looks Like You Just Lost

**A/N: A slightly shorter chapter this time (about 1500 words). I still own nothing.**

 **Chapter 9: Looks Like You Just Lost**

The last day of physical training. The last day to prove ourselves to the trainers and leaders before four people leave us. I don't think I'm nervous. I think I have a pretty good rank in comparison with the others.

I hope. What I'm worried about is Al. He hasn't been doing well at all.

I lie in bed as long as I possibly can before getting up and throwing my clothes on. The once-large garments are close to actually fitting now.

I'm the first one to leave for breakfast, my jaw finally normal enough to eat something other and oatmeal and scrambled eggs. I never thought I would care so much about having flavorful food, but I guess I didn't know what I was missing before.

I still have to break small parts of my muffin off at a time, but I'm able to eat them. That in and of itself is reason for my spirits to be high. Al, Christina, and Will trickle in as I savor the sweet chocolate. None of their dispositions are quite as positive as mine. They all wear nervous frowns.

"Why the long faces?" I ask with a grin. "We're all at least middle of the pack, right?"

"Easy for you to say," Al groans. "You're well above that."

"Nah. I'm decent, but nowhere out of the middle of the pack,' I chuckle. "Come on! This is the last day of beating each other up! Let's make the most out of it!"

My enthusiasm draws a chuckle from each of them, but we eat the rest of our breakfast in silence before heading to the training room.

I watch as Four writes the final fights up on the green board— _chalkboard,_ I remind myself. Al called it a chalkboard. "Hey, where were you this morning?" I hear Christina ask beside me. I look over, and see that Tris has finally joined us.

"I got held up," she answers cryptically.

"You okay, Tris?" Al asks. "You look a little…"

"A little what?" She snaps.

"On edge." At his words, Four moves away from the board, revealing the fight assignments.

 _Will v. Myra_

 _Christina v. Al_

 _Edward v. Drew_

 _Peter v. Dorothy_

 _Tris v. Molly_

I sigh. Most of these are fairly evenly matched. Peter will be enough of a challenge for me. But Molly and Tris? My heart aches for Tris, and I cast her a sorry glance that she doesn't see.

"Go easy on me, okay?" Al asks Christina.

"I make no promises."

I watch as the fights pass. Will beats Myra. When Christina and Al fight, Al takes a few hits and falls to the ground. He doesn't get up, and the match is done. Eric shakes his head at that one.

Edward beats Drew effortlessly. Then, it's my turn. My turn to fight Peter. A ball of nerves settles low in my stomach. I meet him in the ring. Neither of us has lost a fight yet, and this could destroy our newfound cordiality.

"Ready to get your ass beat again, Street Rat?" He asks with a sneer. Well, there goes the cordiality.

"You wish," I counter, putting my hands up by my face. There will be no taking it easy on either of our parts in this fight.

I know I can't underestimate him now. I've watched him fight. He's strong and not big enough that it makes him slow. He can be lethal, and, if I'm not mistaken, will resort to fighting dirty if the situation arises.

He comes out of the gate swinging, almost landing a punch to the bad side of my jaw. I dodge, and it finds purchase only on thin air. He throws two more in quick succession. One glances off my right cheek. Before I can do anything, his hands return to their defensive stance. We circle each other, both looking for weaknesses in the other's defense. I quickly slam a kick into his ribs and he stumbles. _When did I gain enough muscle to do that_? Before he can gain enough composure back, I swing my fist at him. It hits his temple and he falls, but stumbles back up.

I smirk. "What was that about getting my ass beat?"

He jabs at me, but I duck, landing the hardest uppercut I can to his jaw. It doesn't seem to faze him. He grabs my hair. _Drew did that. I can't believe he made the same mistake_. I knee him in the gut and pull his head to my shoulder. I get three hard knees into his solar plexus before he maneuvers his head and pain shoots through my shoulder.

I kick him away from me, a sick tearing noise sounding as he separates. He spits a glob of blood and skin out of the ring. I stare at him, not going back into a defensive stance yet. I just let my jaw drop, disgusted. "You just fucking _bit_ me," I whisper. His "mistake" seems a little more intentional now.

He grins, his teeth covered in blood— _my_ blood. Rage boils up in my chest. _Smiling with bloody teeth is_ my _line._

I lunge at him with an outraged cry. He twists me as I attack him, slamming me on the ground. I situate myself to jump up, but he doesn't let me. Instead, he gets down and holds my fisted hands beside my head.

"You can't get up," he says smugly. "Looks like you just lost."

But he made one mistake here. "Looks like it," I reply. I wrap one leg around his waist. Taking this action the way I _intended_ for him to take it, his grip on my wrists relaxes and he leans down closer. I throw all my body weight into switching our positions.

I smirk down at him. "Maybe not." I slam my fist into his nose over and over, until blood other than my own covers my knuckles and his eyes roll into the back of his head. The nose is _definitely_ broken.

I stand victoriously over him. "Bitch," I spit down at him, grabbing my still-bleeding shoulder.

"DJ wins," Four shouts, circling my name on the board. "Get him to the infirmary," he adds, just to me.

I nod and slap his face lightly. His eyes flutter. "Peter, get up or I'm going to carry you to the infirmary," I say quietly. His eyes open. I stand back up and extend my hand to him. He takes it and I pull him to his feet. He stumbles forward into me, still dazed.

"Let's get you to the infirmary," I say, wrapping his arm around my shoulders to hold some of his weight. He just nods.

We walk most of the way to the infirmary in silence. Once we're almost there, I hear a mumble. "What?"

He sighs. "I said, I'm sorry." I look up at him, confused. "For biting you. It was a dirty move." I almost giggle as his last word comes out more as "bove."

"It's okay," I reply, finally reaching the infirmary. "Sorry I broke your nose."

His eyes widen. "What?"

I don't reply; just walk him through the doors. Lex looks up, bored. "Did you break another nose, DJ?"

I smile bashfully, Peter pulling his arm from me and walking over to one of the beds. "It's last day of fights."

"I know. I'm surprised nobody else has come in yet," she replies. "Normally, all of the fights on the final day end in infirmary visits. It's kind of a—" She's cut off by a screech. As she spoke, she had grabbed and set Peter's nose, more blood pouring from it. "Tradition."

"I'm not surprised about that one," I chuckle. "Would you mind fixing this up?" I ask, motioning to my shoulder, still pouring blood.

Her eyes widen. "Why the hell didn't you have me do that _first_? A broken nose is _easy_." She sets me on a bed, changes gloves, and starts examining it. "Is this a _bite-mark_?"

I look over to Peter and nod. She shakes her head and goes to grab something. I think I hear a mumbled "fucking _savages_." She returns with a thick paste, which she smears over the area. "This should heal by tomorrow morning," she sighs. "Thank god stage one is over after today."

The doors open again, and Drew carries Molly in. Bruises are already forming, and her nose is broken as well. _Tris did this?_ I watch as Lex treats the unconscious girl's wounds, doting sweetly and worriedly. It's almost un-Dauntless of her. I love it.

"You two can go," she calls over her shoulder. Peter stays, but I do as she says.


	10. Dressed for Celebration

**Chapter 10: Dressed for Celebration**

When my eyes flutter open, I get up and throw on whatever clothes I find first. I plan on leaving early and picking up some clothes from one of the shops in the Pit before the visiting day festivities. I'm out of the dormitory as everyone else starts to stir.

The clothing store has only been open for a few minutes when I walk in. I'm greeted by a girl with a cotton candy pink pixie cut. "What are you looking for?" She asks, bubbly.

I hadn't really thought about that. Again. "Something for visiting day," I reply. "If my mom comes, I want her to see that I'm doing well, but if she doesn't, I want to look good even if I feel like shit."

She nods with a grin. "I do that every time a guy breaks up with me. Let's see what we can find." I trail around the store after her as she grabs several black garments. "Try these on." She thrusts them into my arms and pushes me toward the dressing rooms.

Fifteen minutes later, I walk out of the store in a two-credit draped dress and a pair of thick-heeled ankle booties. A sense of dread settles in my stomach, realizing that it's entirely possible that my mom either won't be allowed to come, or just won't come of her own accord. She left this place for a reason. What if I'm not worth the grief of returning? She always said that she would respect whatever decision I made, but what if I made the wrong one? What if she's _disappointed_ in me?

Panic swells in my chest. Tears prickle at my eyes and a lump grows in my throat.

No. I need to calm down. I'm not acting Dauntless. _Act Dauntless_. Dauntless wouldn't care if their family didn't approve of their decision. I take a deep breath, set my jaw, and put on my best Dauntless face. If I'm not brave enough now, I'll fake it until I am.

With a newfound confidence, I stride out into the Pit, searching every face milling around.

Molly and Drew stand off to the end of the room, alone. _If mom didn't come, at least I'll have company._ Peter stands with a tall man and a red-haired woman. His parents, I assume, though he looks like neither of them.

Christina speaks, gestating wildly to her parents and younger sister. Will talks in low tones to a woman I assume is his sister.

Tris is by the chasm, hugging her mother. Natalie Prior is a face I know. She's the one who runs the volunteer agency that helps us—the factionless, that is. I keep scanning the faces, the clothing. But there's nothing. No sign of her. None of my mom's mixed clothing, Amity and Abnegation handouts. After several minutes, I come to terms with it. _She didn't come_.

Tears fill my eyes again.

Tris and her mother are called over by Christina and Will. They don't notice that I'm here.

The tears threaten to fall. I put my head down and start the way out of the Pit. I don't make it seven steps before a hand is on my shoulder. It's a short, wide woman. "Excuse me," the woman says. "The girl over there said that you know our son, Albert." I notice that behind her stands a tall man, built like a freight train.

Albert. Al. These are Al's parents. I nod, trying to blink back tears. "Yeah, I know Al. is he not down here yet?" My voice quakes pathetically.

"I'm afraid not," she replies, looking a little sad.

"I'll see if I can find him for you," I say, desperate to leave this place.

"Thank you so much," she says with a grin. I try to grin back before I go to find him, but fail.

"No problem." I start my quest to find my best friend. I start up in the room above the glass ceiling, where people can be found doing reckless things for entertainment. He's not there.

He's not in the cafeteria. He's not in any of the shops. Finally, I decide to check the dormitory. Lo and behold, there he is, sitting on my bed—the one he and I have been sharing—staring at the wall where the chalkboard used to be.

"Your parents asked me to come find you," I say. He doesn't acknowledge my words. "Don't you want to see them?"

He shakes his head.

I sit down next to him. "I'm sure they're proud of you." _Unlike my mom,_ I add mentally.

"I know they're proud of me!" He shouts. "That's the whole reason I _came_ here!"

I'm taken aback. "What?"

"They love Dauntless. They always have," he bequeaths. "They love how they 'protect the city.' I just wanted to make them proud." His voice breaks. "I came here even after my test told me Candor because I didn't want them to be disappointed in me."

I wrap my arms around his barreled chest and he leans into the embrace, twisting to wrap his arms around me. His shoulders start to shake as he buries his face in my neck. He needs me here. He needs me. He needs me to be strong. He needs me to be moral support right now, but I'm not completely sure I can do it. At least his parents came. They still show that they love him. They care.

I pet his head. "You should go see them," I whisper to him.

He shakes his head. "They'll find out how bad I'm doing. I can't lie to them. I'll have to tell them that I might be factionless after tomorrow."

"You're doing just fine, Al," I assure him.

"I only won one fight, DJ. I wouldn't be surprised if I'm last place."

I tut. "You're not—"

"I never even hit the target with the knives, and I'm mediocre at best with guns. Face it, I'm not going to make it."

I sigh. As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. "So what? Maybe you won't be here after tomorrow. But is that _today?_ " He looks up at me, confused. "If today is your last day with us, make the most out of it. Don't sulk in bed all day. There's no point in sitting here wallowing in self-pity over something that might not even happen. Go see your parents. They'll still be proud."

"I guess you're right," he sighs, standing up. "Why aren't you down there?" He asks, finally realizing that I'm also not in the Pit.

I look down. "Mom didn't come," I mumble quietly. "Nobody's down there for me."

"I'm sorry," he says. "You deserve someone down there more than any of the rest of us."

I shrug. "Go see your parents."

He nods. "Okay." I watch as he strides out of the dormitory. Just as he reaches the door, he turns back around. "You look good, by the way." I grin, and he flashes me a smile before heading out.

Then I'm alone, and he's not the one sitting in the dormitory wallowing in self-pity. I am.

Our normal table was gathered, speculating about rankings and going off onto tangents about the future and the past.

"You weren't allowed to have _pets?_ " Christina asks Will incredulously, smacking the table. "Why not?"

"Because they're illogical," Will replies simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What is the point in providing food and shelter for an animal that just soils your furniture, makes your home smell bad, and ultimately dies?"

I shake my head at the two as Christina regales us with a story about her old bulldog. I had a cat before I came here, as much as a stray can have anything. His name was Bombur. He was orange and fat on the rats on the streets, and he'd come back to wherever mom and I were sleeping every night and curl up on my stomach. I want to tell them about him, but none of them would care.

"You mean… killing the dog, right?" I hear Will ask. _What?_

"Yeah," she replies solemnly. "I mean, you guys all had to do that too, right?" She looks at Al, then Tris. " _You_ didn't." I'm _completely_ lost.

"Hmm?" Tris asks, trying to be nonchalant.

"You're hiding something. You're fidgeting."

"What?"

"In Candor," Al says, nudging Tris with his elbow, "we learn to read body language so we know when someone is lying or keeping someone from us."

"Oh. Well…" She scratches the back of her neck.

"See, there it is again!"

"No, I didn't kill the dog." _What dog?_

"How did you get Dauntless without using the knife?" Will asks, narrowing his eyes.

"I didn't. I got Abnegation." It takes most of my self-control not to snort. I don't believe that for a second. There's still something she's hiding. Maybe she's—no. I can't think like the conversation finally makes sense-they're talking about the aptitude test.

"But you chose Dauntless anyway?" Christina says. "Why?" _Maybe the same reason Al did. Maybe the same reason_ I _did._

"I told you. It was the food," she answers with a smirk.

"Did you guys know that Tris had never seen a hamburger before she came here?" Christina says, laughing, before launching into the story of our first dinner here. I smile. I'm part of that story. Well, not part of it, but I was there.

After dinner, we return to the dorm. The dorm, where the stage one rankings will almost certainly be. A knot forms in my stomach. I could lose my best friend already. I could go back to being factionless easily. My feet drag as we get there.

When we get there, Four stands where the board usually hangs. The blackboard is leaning against his legs, facing away from us.

"For those of you who just came in, I'm explaining how the ranks are determined," he addresses us. "After the first round of fights, we ranked you according to your skill level. The number of points you earn depends on your skill level and the skill level of the person you beat. You earn more points for beating someone of a high skill level. I don't reward preying on the weak. That is cowardice." He pauses. "If you have a high rank, you lose points for losing to a low-ranked opponent."

Molly lets out a snort. She got beat by Tris yesterday. That's going to hurt her.

"Stage two of training is weighted more heavily than stage one, because it is more closely ties to overcoming cowardice. That said, it is extremely difficult to rank high at the end of initiation if you rank low in stage one."

"We will announce the cuts tomorrow," he tells us. "The fact that you are transfers and the Dauntless-born initiates are not will not be taken into consideration. Four of you could be factionless and none of them. Or four of them could be factionless and none of you. Or any combination thereof. That said, here are your ranks."

He returns the board to its spot on the wall and moves back so that we can see it.

 _Edward_

 _Dorothy_

Second. _Holy shit, I'm second!_ My heart leaps and I almost scream in excitement. Second place? I continue reading down the list.

 _Peter_

 _Will_

 _Christina_

 _Molly_

 _Tris_

 _Drew_

 _Al_

 _Myra_

Al isn't last. But he isn't anywhere near safe. Unless three or more Dauntless-born initiates completely failed, he's factionless. My grin falls. I only just found a best friend, and I'm going to lose him? Tears well up in my eyes as an uneasy silence settles over the room.

I'm not sure if I'm glad when it's broken, but the distraction forces my tears away. "What?" Molly demands indignantly. She points at Christina. "I beat her! I beat her in _minutes_ , and she's ranked _above_ me?"

"Yeah," Christina smirks. "And?"

"If you intend to secure yourself a high rank, I suggest you don't make a habit of losing to low-ranked opponents."

A look of understanding crosses Molly's face, and changes quickly to rage. "You," she says, narrowing her eyes on Tris. " _You_ are going to pay for this." With those words, she turns on her heel and stomps out of the dorm. I expect either Drew or Peter to follow after her, but neither does.

Will claps me on the shoulder. "Congrats on second place!"

"Yeah, thanks," I reply, more worried about Al, whose face has gone entirely white. I shake Will's hand off to put my hand on Al's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"And look at you. Number seven," he says, turning to Tris upon my rejection of his energy.

"Still might not have been good enough," she reminds him.

"It will be, don't worry," he assures her. "We should celebrate."

"Well, let's go then," Christina exclaims, grabbing Tris's arm with one hand and Al's with the other. "Come on, Al. You don't know how the Dauntless-borns did. You don't know anything for sure."

"I'm just going to bed," he mumbles, yanking his arm from her grasp and sulking over to our bed—my bed. It's strange to think how quickly I've adjusted to sharing a bed.

"Let's go, DJ," Christina says, grabbing my arm with the hand that had just been freed up.

I shake my head. "I'll stay here with him," I say, nodding toward Al.

"But you're already _dressed_ for celebration!" I give a sorry smile, but gently remove my arm from her grasp. "But you got _second place_! You deserve to celebrate."

"I just don't feel like celebrating," I explain. "Sorry."

She purses her lips, but doesn't push the matter any further. They just file out of the room.

I turn to Al, who's now curled up in the bed, covers pulled over his head. I cast a saddened look that he doesn't see toward him before crossing the room to him.

I curl up behind him, wrapping my arm around his chest and pressing a light kiss to his back. "You should be celebrating," he says quietly. "You've earned it."

I sigh against him. "I don't wanna do anything without my best friend."

"You're still in your dress," he reminds me. I don't move. I just pull the covers up from between us over myself.

 **A/N: I still do not own is the first chapter that hasn't gone perfectly lined up with the chapter in the book, but it seemed unavoidable, since the correlating chapter in the book was just visiting day, for which DJ had no visitors. It would have had no substance. So I decided to add in half of the next book chapter into this one. Next chapter kinda balances it out, though.  
**


	11. You'll Be Like the Dauntless Pirate

**A/N: Okay, here's the thing. This is the last chapter I currently have written. Then next chapter in the book is very vague on what happens while at Dauntless (Tris is ziplining) so it will be a more difficult one to write. I'll try to get it out to you by next weekend, but I'm not making any promises so don't hold it against me. Also, here is another super long one cause I got carried away. I own only what you don't recognize.**

 **Chapter 11: You'll Be Like the Dauntless Pirate**

I wake to a scream. I almost think it could have been in my dream, but when another scream pierces the air, I leap up. Al almost falls out of the bed. I sprint toward the sound, getting close before my bare feet hit something slippery and I fall.

I quickly scramble to my knees next to the fallen person. _Edward._ "Turn on the lights!" I shout. The lights come on according to my demand.

His hands clutch at his eyes, but jutting out from between his fingers is the unmistakable handle from a cafeteria butter knife. My stomach churns with the thought of how much force had to have been used to pierce his eye like this.

Myra, standing by Edward's feet, screams. So does someone else. Someone yells for help. The wet sound of someone vomiting sounds from the corner. Edward's screaming doesn't cease. I grab at his hands, pulling them away from his eye. "Put your hands down. Put your damn hands down."

Tris's hands appear on his shoulders. "Lie still." She sounds incredibly calm. He still thrashes against our restraint. "I said, lie _still_. Breathe."

"My eye!" he screams. "Take it out! Get it out, get it out of me, get it out!"

Tris laughs and I look at her incredulously. She's becoming hysterical. I take it upon myself to advise him.

"No. You have to let the doctors take it out. It could cause more damage if someone unqualified takes it out," I tall him evenly. "Just breathe."

"It hurts," he says with a sob.

"I know, honey," I try to sound soothing. "I know it does. It'll be okay." I'm not entirely sure. "You'll be fine."

I murmur quiet, soothing words to him until the nurse arrives. He has Tris move back, but doesn't say a word to me. Myra and I stay by his side as he puts him on a stretcher and carries him to the infirmary.

Once we're there, they transfer him to a permanent bed and Lex rushes over. "What happened?"

"Someone stabbed him in the eye in his sleep," I tell her quickly.

She nods. "I need to get an X-ray," she tells the nurse. "With some luck, we'll be able to save the eye," she assures a sobbing Myra. I stay calm next to her.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask her. "I can help."

"Do you really want to help?" she asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. I nod. "Okay. Help Denny wheel him to the X-ray. He knows the way."

Denny, the nurse who came to get Edward, leads the way to the X-ray machine. He and I maneuver Edward under the machine, and he moves the machine until he gets the angle he wants.

"Keep him still," he says to me before going to the controls. I stand next to Edward.

"You need to stay still, Edward. We're going to take some X-rays. You know what those are," I remind him.

"Yeah," he replies, even though I hadn't phrased it as a question. I turn to join Denny, but Edward's hand latches onto my wrist. "Talk to me while they do it?" He begs me with his open eye.

"About what?"

"Anything. What is your family like?"

I nod before forcing a soothing, reminiscent voice. "My dad died before I was born." I start. "My mom and I were always really close. She used to be Dauntless, but she left when she was pregnant with me. She taught me everything I know. We might not have had everything we wanted, but we had everything we needed. We had each other."

I sigh. "But I guess that doesn't really matter now, since she didn't even bother to show up for visiting day."

Denny steps out of the control room and walks toward us. "We're going to take you into the operating room while Lex checks over the X-rays, okay?"

Edward nods. "Thank you for talking me through that," he says pathetically.

"Anytime." We wheel him to one of the separate operating rooms. After a few minutes, Lex steps in.

"Administer the anesthetic," she says lowly to Denny.

"What do you need?" I ask, eager to help again.

Lex sighs. "I need the operating room cleared. I need you to go get cleaned up and take care of yourself."

"But—"

"Go," she says. Her tone of voice leaves no room for argument, so I just leave.

Myra sits up straight when I exit. "They're putting him under so they can operate," I tell her. "They're taking it out."

Tears well up in her eyes and her arms latch around my waist. "Thank you," she sobs into my chest. "Thank you. I didn't know what to do. I still don't. Thank you."

I go to pat her hair, but think better of it when I see the blood still glistening on my hands. "No problem," I assure her. "It was the least I could do." _No. The least I could do is nothing,_ I remember telling Peter.

She pulls away. "You're covered in blood."

"Sorry. I'll go clean up," I say quietly. "I'll be right back." I slip into the infirmary's bathrooms. A look in the mirror tells me that I was not nearly careful with what I was doing with the blood on my hands. My nose and left cheek are streaked with it, and the front of my hair is matted with the rusty-smelling substance. First, I scrub my hands clean, rubbing off the top layer of skin with the blood. I grab a rag and wipe off my face, then my knees and shins. I rinse my hair out in the sink. Before I walk back out to sit with Myra, I wrap my towel around my head.

Myra is sitting on one of the beds, tear tracts down her face. I take a seat next to her and wrap my hand around hers. "He'll be fine," I assure. "He'll get through this. There's a reason he got first place."

She looks up at me. "Thank you."

"You've said that." I untangle my fingers from hers and wrap my arm around her shoulder. Without question, she lays her head on my shoulder. I kiss the top of her head. "He'll be fine."

She sniffles. "This dress makes your hips look amazing."

I chuckle. "Thanks."

"Did you get blood on it?"

"Not too much. It's salvageable."

She nods, and falls silent. I take the opportunity to finally think. _Who the hell could have done this_? Logically, I know damn well who. I just don't want to believe it. I've been making progress with him. He's shown that he can be a decent person. I don't want to believe that _Peter_ performed such a brutal act. I don't want to believe that one of the only people I've managed to befriend could do something like this. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

Thirty minutes later, the door to the operating room opens. Myra shoots up, and the towel falls off of my head.

Lex looks to us sadly. "We successfully removed the knife. However, we were not able to save the eye."

Myra gasps and covers her mouth. "Is he awake? Can we see him?"

Lex nods. "Yeah, he's awake."

Myra hops up and all but sprints to the room. "How did he take it?" I ask, staying back.

"He took it as well as can be expected, all things considered." She says. I nod. "He asked to see you."

"Okay."

She grabs my wrist. "This is an irreversible injury." _What does that mean_? I give her a look that says as much. "This would be fine in any other faction, but this is Dauntless."

"What does that mean?"

"This is probably his last night at Dauntless."

My blood runs cold. " _What?_ "

She sighs. "This has an extended recovery period, it could hinder his ability to perform well, and it's never going to go away. People have been kicked out for less."

My heart is in my throat and tears form in my eyes. "But physical training is over, and there are plenty of jobs that don't require both eyes," I say, frantic.

"I'm sorry, DJ." I run my fingers through my hair, shaking, before regaining my composure.

I step into the room. Edward lies on a cot with a bandage over his right eye. Myra is at his side, stroking his hand.

"Hey, my savior!"

I grin, trying to forget what Lex just told me. "Nah," I dismiss. "I'm just the dorm mom."

"You're the dorm _saint_."

"I don't know about that," I chuckle. He opens his mouth to argue, bit I don't let him. "What I _do_ know is that we're going to have to get you a sick eye patch. With a skull and crossbones and everything. You'll be like the Dauntless pirate."

He grins. "Yeah. A pirate." He sobers up a little bit. "You should go get some rest."

I shake my head. "Dorm mom doesn't need to sleep." He gives me a pointed look. "I wouldn't be able to, anyway. Too much going on." _And if Peter is the one who did this, I'm a target too._ "Doesn't feel too safe anymore."

Whatever was left of his smile falls. "Do you really think Peter is capable of hurting you?"

"I don't know what he's capable of anymore," I answer solemnly. _That answers the question. Edward is fairly certain it's Peter, too._ "What makes you so sure it was Peter?"

"Who else is this desperate to be high up in the ranks?" He's right. _Damn it_. "I know you two got close before, but…"

"I know."

"Are you okay?"

I laugh. "Am I okay?" I ask, tears forming in my eyes again. No, I'm not okay. "You got _stabbed in the eye_ , and you're asking if _I'm_ okay? Are you sure _you're_ not the saint?"

He shrugs. "I have so many drugs in my system right now that I can't feel anything. You don't have that luxury."

"I didn't just get stabbed," I offer.

"Just because someone else has it worse, doesn't mean your plight is invalid."

"I'm fine. Really."

He drops it and yawns out, "Okay."

I smile. "Now, _you_ should get some rest." He doesn't verbally reply. He just yawns again, and his eyes flutter shut. Myra and I sit in comfortable silence for a while, but eventually sleep claims her, too.

The clock on the wall reads 4:27am, but I can't sleep. I'm left alone with my thoughts. Again.

 _Edward is going to get kicked out because someone attacked him in his sleep._

 _This is why mom left. Because the leadership had become so corrupt and ruthless that it changed what the entire thing was about. She didn't come because she thought I might have sympathized with the people who allow this to happen._

The more I think, the more rage bubbles up into my chest, until I can't hold it in anymore.

I march out of the room, almost sprinting. _I need to find Max, Eric, anybody._ I'm seething. A small, cold hand grabs my wrist. I try to wrench it away, but the grip holds strong. I spin around to my captor—Lex.

"Stop," she warns me.

"No."

"Where are you going?"

"To give whichever leader I find first a piece of my mind."

"You can't do that—"

"Why? Why the hell not?" I'm shouting now. "What the fuck happened to 'justice is more important than peace'? How the fuck is this justice? He got stabbed in the eye, and he's going to get kicked out. Might as well change it to 'justice is more important than peace _when we deem it appropriate._ ' This faction has gone to _shit_ since the founding. It's been going to shit since before my mom left."

A look of anger crosses Lex's normally tranquil features. "You'd better feel damn lucky that I'm the only one in here to hear you right now."

"Why? It's not like they would _do_ anything I haven't experienced before. They want to kick me out, they want to make me factionless, _let them._ I'm not afraid."

Lex lets go of my wrist and grabs my face with both hands so that I can't look anywhere but into her eyes. "Look at me. They won't kick you out. You won't go back to your old life. You won't be sent back to your mother." She pauses to let it sink in. "They will kill you." My heart stops and I stare at her. "They've done it before. They did it to your father. Don't think they won't do it again."

Finally, my dam breaks, and I cry for the first time since I entered the compound. My knees collapse, and Lex sinks to the ground with me. Sobs rack my body. "If we can't do anything, then _what's the point?_ " I wail. She just shushes me and pets my hair. She lets me cry into her until I have no more tears.

"Come talk to me some other time. I have something I need to tell you."

I don't sleep at all during the night—morning, actually. Both Edward and Myra are awake when Max shows up at ten thirty. I seethe quietly in the corner of Edward's room, but I don't say a word. Edward sits on the side of the bed, legs dangling off.

"I've heard of your injury," Max says as he walks in. _Why the hell else would you be here, Max? We already know that much._

"I assumed as much," Edward replies levelly.

"Yes, well, I'm not here on leisure. I'm afraid I have some business to discuss with you," he says to Edward, eyeing Myra and I.

"Whatever you have to say, sir, you can say it in front of them," Edward says.

"Very well." He begrudgingly begins to speak. "It is Dauntless protocol for the council of leaders to meet and decide the fate of any severely injured member or initiate in our faction."

"'Decide the fate'?" Edward asks warily.

"Yes. And after much consideration, we have decided to release you from your service to the faction due to your inability to complete any future training."

Edward goes white and mutters out a simple, "What?"

For the first time since the first day, I hear Myra truly use her voice. "You're kicking him out?"

"In a sense of the word, yes," he replies. Edward stays silent.

"But he hasn't done anything. If anyone should be getting kicked out, it's Peter!" She argues.

"There is no definitive proof that Peter is the one who perpetrated this. And I'm sorry, but even if I wished to change this, I couldn't. I am not the only voice in the leaders."

"No," I say bitterly from my spot. "But you're certainly the loudest."

He glares at me, but his next words are not for me. "It is my understanding that you, Myra, were going to be cut anyway. Think of it as a blessing that you two get to stay together. I expect you to have your belongings at the train tracks by noon." He drops two small black bags and I grind my teeth. Myra doesn't say another word, so he takes that as his cue to leave. He exits the room, then sticks his head back in the door. "By the way, congratulations on getting first place in physical training, Dorothy."

"Wait!" He stops again at my exclamation. "If Edward is leaving, given the timing, shouldn't the next highest initiate who would be getting cut be allowed to stay?"

"I suppose that would be the logical thing to do, wouldn't it?" He asks cryptically.

Finally, he leaves. Edward stares ahead, distraught and pale. "How could they _do_ that?" Myra asks, pacing the room and throwing her arms up. "How could they just throw away their best initiate?"

Suddenly, I'm struck by an idea. "I'm going to find Max," I announce, pushing off the wall.

"What are you going to do?" Edward asks, snapping out of his daze.

"I'm gonna tell him that if you're out, I'm out."

"No."

" _What?_ "

He sets his jaw. "You're not quitting because of this," he says, glaring at me with a no-nonsense look in his eye.

I stare back in kind. "Why not?"

"Because you can't fix it from the outside," he breathes quietly, as if saying it louder than a whisper would result in some hideous punishment. The way things are run around here, it might have.

My determination melts away. I sigh. "Do you guys want any help packing your stuff?"

"That would be great. Thank you," Edward says.

"I'll go then. You two—talk about whatever. I don't think you'll want to be there," I mutter. Edward nods. I grab the bags Max dropped and slink out with my shoulders down, staring at my feet.

My feet are heavy on the walk, and once I step into the dormitory, all eyes are on me. They wait for news with baited breath. I sigh, letting my shoulders fall even further. "They're out." The room takes in a collective gasp.

"What?" Christina whispers, though it might as well have been a shout in the silence of the dormitory.

"They kicked Edward out. Myra followed." I pause. "I'm just here to pick up their stuff. They're leaving at noon." The entire room seems to deflate as I trudge over to their drawers and begin to empty clothes into the bags.

"Why?" Al asks quietly. They all look at me, waiting for the answer again.

"Max said that he can't complete training anymore. So they 'released him from service.'"

I look down at Myra's shirt in my hand. It's so small, and even her clothing seems fragile like her. Tears fill my eyes as I think of her, fending for herself on the streets. I blink them back and shove the shirt into the black duffle bag. Each garment I put in the bag seems heavier than the last, until finally the last tank top is in my hand, feeling like solid lead. I force myself to put it in.

Then something catches my eye, shoved into the very corner of the drawer. I grab it—a necklace. It's simple, with a thin gold chain and blue teardrop stone. My heart twists as I realize that it's a reminder of one of _two_ factions she's been in that she can never go back to. I keep it in my hand as I zip up the bags.

I stand to leave, but Four stands in the doorway. "You might want to stay for this," he remarks stoically. He glances down, and I follow his gaze to his hand—he holds a piece of chalk. _He's announcing cuts_. I nod in response and set the bags down.

"Four initiates will be leaving us today," he announces loudly, striding to the board. "Those cuts are…" he raises the chalk to the board. "Edward, Erudite transfer," he crosses off Edward's name, "Myra, Erudite transfer," he crosses her name off, "Eve, Dauntless born, and Cole, Dauntless born."

One name is conspicuously absent from his lips.

My eyes shoot to Al, who stares at the board like it would change if he looked away for only a second. His name slips off my lips.

His chest heaves, but he still doesn't look away. I step forward and lay my hand on his shoulder. "Al." I step between him and the board, but my head doesn't obscure his view at all. "You're safe."

His eyes break from the board to my own eyes, and his face splits in a grin. He grabs onto my waist and hoists me into the air, spinning in circles. His eyes fill with tears as he laughs. I giggle in spite of the despair that my dealings with Edward brought.

He lowers me down to wrap me in a bear hug, my feet still not touching the ground. "See? You're staying, you big lug," I say. "I told you, you had nothing to worry about!" Except maybe Edward staying healthy, but I don't want to bring down his mood.

After some time, I tap him on the back. "Can you…?"

"Oh! Yeah, sorry," he says, dropping my feet to the ground.

"I have to…" I trail off, motioning toward the bags I had dropped on the ground. His smile dropped slightly.

"Right."

"I'll… see you later,' I say, stroking the pendant in my hand and gathering the bags back up. "Congrats."

With that, I step slowly out of the room, heading up toward the tracks. Each step seems to get heavier, as if my feet are made of lead, hardening with every footfall. I stand at the top of the stairs, just in front of the door outside, for what seems like hours, just because I cannot bring myself to leave, as if not doing this could somehow make my brand new friends not leave.

But that's not how it works, so I open the door, cheery sunlight beaming in and mocking the dire situation. Edward and Myra stand by the tracks, waiting for the twelve o'clock train to arrive. Waiting to be taken to their new life amongst the people who were once my own. I don't envy them. I clear my throat to announce my presence, seeing that they hadn't seen me step out.

"Hey," Edward mutters, staring at the ground.

"Hey," I reply in kind. "I brought your stuff." I hold out the small duffle bags, walking closer to them. They each take their own.

"Thanks," he says, still not looking up.

I focus my sights on Myra, who is looking right at me. "This was in the back corner of your drawer. I didn't want it to get lost in your other stuff," I say, pressing the necklace into her palm.

She flips our hands and presses it back into my own. "Keep it. There's not much use for it where we're going," she says with a sad smile. "Think of it as a reminder of why you need to change things around here."

I nod, balling it in my fist. "Got any advice for us?" Edward asks with a dark chuckle.

I stop to think. Do I? I can think of a few things. I alternate which one I look at as I speak. "The factionless aren't as disorganized as they used to be. There's a bit of a government going on there. Make sure you get on either supply or riot squad. They get the first pick of food. It will be the best idea not to have kids at all, but if you do, make sure that they are born so that their choosing will be on a year when Abnegation or Amity host. The ability of factionless children to choose is the decision of the hosting faction. Amity and Abnegation always let them. Candor is iffy. Erudite and Dauntless will not."

"The healthcare there is spotty at best. The makeshift trauma ward when I was there consisted of two Erudite rejects who couldn't handle the pressure of their initiation, and myself. Myra, you should be decent at that. You might want to be a medic; they need them." I pause, looking them both in the eye as the train's horn blares. "Other than that, it's pretty straight forward. Stay alive."

Myra's eyes fill with tears as she looks toward the train, fast approaching. "Thank you," she says, turning toward the tracks.

"Good luck," I say, turning away from them to go back inside.

Edward calls my name, and I turn back to him. "Don't let yourself die like the rest of the saints," he says with a sad smile.

"And how's that?" I ask, yelling over the sound of the train barreling past.

"Bloody," he replies. Then he's gone, grabbing onto the handle of a passing train car and pulling himself in.


End file.
